Second Star to the Right
by spicytamale
Summary: What if the Darling's stayed in Storybrooke? Wendy Darling's time in Storybrooke and the Enchanted Forest as she tries to keep her family safe and together and deal with the aftermath of leaving Neverland. Slight AU where Pan is Gold's brother. Darling Pan. T.
1. Reunion

I can see the gentle rolling hills and the still waters as the _Jolly Roger_ approaches Storybrooke. Tinker-bell told me that in this little town, my brothers have been waiting for me, on a mission from Pan. This is all over, one hundred years of being in a cage, I can finally return to my family- or at least what is left of it.

Being in the open air and being free to move as I please makes me feel like I'm featherlight. No one is shoving me into a tiny cage or commanding me to tell stories or be anyone's mother anymore. I am free to be me, to be Wendy. This freedom makes me feel woozy with joy. I had lost hope that I was never going to get out of Neverland, forced to spend all time trapped in time with the Lost Boys and Peter. I had lost hope that I would grow up, and since my time with the Lost Boys, all I had wanted to do was grow up. To be an adult, to fall in love, to work, to be a mother, to grow old with someone. Those were the little daydreams that had gotten me through. The musings of what it would be like to have a job or to be someone's mother. Someone's _real_ mother, not just to patch up wounds and have grimy, greedy, violent hands clawing at me for my attention.

It was all I had wanted when I returned to Neverland to seek out Baelfire. He had been, and still, was my family and he deserved a chance at getting to grow up, too. He was my brother and I was obligated to go and fetch him. I had had no fear going in to it. Peter had turned me away. He didn't want me and had let me go. Why would he keep me a second time? was my rationale, but I was wrong. He kept me and dominated my time. He claimed I was his and would always be his Wendy-bird. I never understood why he had wanted me the second time around. The Lost Boys would have gotten on just fine without me, and it wasn't like I was crucial to his life. There was no need for me.

Standing at the side of the ship, my knuckles turn white as they grip the railing, gritting my teeth and remembering my time on Neverland. Every waking moment had pulled at me, like the Lost Boys, tearing at my clothes, demanding my entire being, monopolizing my soul. But now, standing on this deck, being free of all that, feels like I'm flying. I appreciate freedom and family and hold them up as the most precious things in the world. I am never going to let them go again.

As we dock, the Lost Boys rush off the ship to wreak havoc somewhere in the town and for once, I don't have to follow them around and make sure they don't kill each other. I peer into the crowd searching for familiar faces, for Michael and John. Everyone moves around in a sea of unfamiliarity. Then I see him. A young man standing in the crowd, with glasses and a worried look. He could be my father at a young age. He looks like he's searching for someone- for me.

"John!" I cry as I bound down the plank to him. He sees me and his eyes show disbelief and utter happiness. I fling myself into his arms and he catches me, holding on tight, to make sure he never loses me again. Tears fill my eyes and I can hardly make out the slightly younger, slightly shorter boy standing behind him.

I disentangle myself from John and leapt to Michael. His cheeks are wet as I kiss them. "Michael," I breath. John comes and wraps his arms around both of us. We all collapse into a pile of crying and laughing and hugging. I feel like I'm dreaming.

"I can't believe it's you. It's really you," I kept telling them. I had thought I would never see them again. When I left for Baelfire, I had thought I could bring my family together, but it turned out, that I only brought them further apart. I want desperately to apologize to John and Michael, but I can't seem to push the words past the lump in my throat or even find them to begin with. I just hold them tightly, and hope that they can understand what I tried to do and maybe try to forgive me in some way.

I hear footsteps approach and I turn to look up at Baelfire, who is now Neal and is in his late twenties. He looks barely recognizable from the scrawny little boy who used to live in the crawlspace in my London home and who gave up his freedom to save John and Michael. He smiles down at me and I smile up at him. John and Michael notice him too, and I can see their eyes search for anything recognizable in his face, and then they see it, like I did. Those dark, kind eyes, the ones that compelled me to make him my brother. Baelfire may have changed his name, but he can't change those eyes.

"Baelfire," John says, disbelieving.

"It's actually Neal now," he says, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. "I didn't mean to interrupt the family moment."

Michael shakes his head. "Changed name or not, you are our family." Then Michael and John both pull him down into our family embrace, all of us hundreds of years old, having lived wildly different lives, but still the same in needing our siblings, and we are still a family, whole once more. I feel tiny and small and precious in all of my brothers' arms. I can hardly believe this is happening. I had given up all hope that I would see any of them ever again. I blame myself for all of it, too. If I hadn't welcomed in the shadow, Bae would never have been taken, I never would have left and Michael and John never would have had to have been forced to work for Pan. We could have been a family and grown up and been so happy.

Through hiccups and tears, I relate this to all my brothers, who immediately dash away this observation. "You can't blame yourself for what Pan did," Michael tells me, rubbing my back.

"Yeah, and you were forced to work for Pan for us, too," John puts in.

"You came back to Neverland to save me," Baelfire says, wiping tears away from both his eyes and mine. "You are not to blame in any of this, Wendy." We all collapse back into the pile of arms and legs and hugs. Soon however, we emerge from our dreamlike reunion and we begin to try and grasp at reality.

"Where do we go now?" I ask John. John and Michael both turn to look at each other and then to Neal.

"Well, Mother and Father are gone," Michael starts off calmly. For a long time, I've known that Mother and Father have been gone for many years. Michael and John were only useful to Peter because they were young. My parents were grown ups and would have been useless to him, he wouldn't have preserved their youth. But hearing this, I feel my heart squeeze and immense sadness fill me. I try not to think about my parents very much, I knew my brothers were alive, but thinking about them never truly knowing where I had gone, or giving them a proper good-bye tore my heart apart. I blink back tears and nod. "So, after they were gone, we lost our house in London." Another thing I never got a chance to say good-bye, too. "We've been just living in condos in whichever city Pan wanted us in, but now…"

"Now, we can choose where we live," John explains. "And we were thinking, we've pretty much been completely immersed in magic for more than a century now, we could just live among those who also know magic." He says it with questioning in his voice. He wants to know if I'm okay with it. "So, we were thinking about settling in Storybrooke. Everyone here knows us and has been so kind. Baelfire is here and we can be a family. But only if you want to stay."

I look to John and Michael and Baelfire. I've only been in this town for a matter of minutes, but I've know the people for centuries. Tinker-bell, Hook, Ariel, Neal, John and Michael. There is no way I can go back to the life without magic, but here is the place where I can stay with my family and have a future. I'm safe here. I nod and smile. I've found my new home.

Soon, we begin to move again and stand up. We continue to talk over minute details- like maybe I should get out of this bathrobe and night gown that I've been wearing for ages. Bae says there is an old Victorian house for sale by the water that Michael, John and I can move into. There's a school where I can study, and John and Michael can choose whichever professions they'd enjoy. As we talk things over, Henry, Bae's son, which is astounding to me, as I still see Bae as a scrawny little boy stealing bread, comes over to us and tugs on his dad's hand, urging him to come with him.

He turns and smiles at me, but when I look at him, shock drenches me. His eyes, which had been so much like his father's, dark and kind and loving, now have a malicious and mischievous light to them. I only know one person whose eyes have ever looked like that. Peter. But it can't be. This is Neal's lovely caring son, the one with the heart of the truest believer. "Hello, Henry," I say, trying to cover my shock.

"So you're moving to Storybrooke, Wendy?" I smile and nod.

"I hope that's alright. And I'm so sorry I tricked you before," I say, trying to convince myself that this truly is Henry.

"It's alright, Wendy. You did it for your family," Henry says smiling up at me. He takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. I'm overwhelmed by the feeling of Peter. I want to yell and scream. How can he still be tormenting me from here? He is trapped safely away in Pandora's Box. He is not in this little child. Peter is gone and I need to move on. I need to grow up.


	2. Nightmares from Neverland

The house Neal told us about is perfect for the Darling's. It has all the space we need and then some. It looks out onto the ocean and I can see the boats in the harbour coming in and out at all time's of day. The house is warm and cozy and it's all I could hope for. Of course, I miss our old brownstone in London, but it's long gone and I need to move on, and grow up.

The first night we stay in our new home, we all sleep in the same room with our mattresses on the floor and candles lighting up the room. We all take turns reading from our favourite books- The Velveteen Rabbit, the Hans Christian Andersen collection, Pride and Prejudice. I luxuriate in the feel of the cool paper underneath my fingertips and the exquisite detail of the words on the page. I had dreamt of being reunited with these pages for so long, the stories had all blended together. Mr. Darcy now took the roll of the Prince in Thumbelina, and I couldn't quite remember if Pride and Prejudice had involved magic. But the stories become clear and solidify in front of me, my voice bringing the stories back into reality for me, just like my life was beginning to be.

We fall asleep by the light of candles and I burrow deeper into the downy comforter that we managed to find. This is the safest I've felt for a very long time. I don't have Pan's or the Lost Boy's hanging over me. The threat of Pan is no longer an option and I feel safe enough to go to sleep without worry. But my subconscious disagrees.

I wake up in the middle of the night in a sweat with my arms and legs tangled up in the sheets, crying and screaming out Pan's name. My heart beats so fast I'm afraid it will leap right out of my chest. I can still hear their shouts and jeers, feel them pull at my clothes and hair, their grimy fingers poking and prodding at me, dotting me with bruises. I can still see his smile in the darkness, his smirk that tells me he's got me, and I'm his and that no matter what I do, I'll never be able to escape. They can take the girl out of Neverland, but they can't take Neverland out of the girl, the laugh in my head tells me.

Tears stream down my face, leaving salty tracks all over my skin. My breaths are short and shallow and my head feels dizzy as I continue to scream. Even though I know I'm not dreaming anymore I can still feel his presence, I can almost see the Shadow moving across the walls, spying and jeering me, a constant reminder that Pan's not really gone, even if he is trapped in the Box.

I scream and thrash around as John and Michael, both roused from their sleep try and console me but it's no use. I feel as if the inky blackness of the Shadow has caught a hold of my throat and I feel like I'm suffocating. I heave and cry and try and swallow back air, but its no use at all. I claw at my hair and try and wipe away the tears. I tug on my clothes and throw back the sheets as John and Michael look on, not having a single clue as what to do. I choke out apologies to them and try to explain how I feel but neither of them understand. Their faces are just complete confusion and my throat feels even tighter knowing they are powerless to this.

I fly out to the porch and catch myself on the railing. I lean over in and dry heave into the bushes. My mouth tastes bitter and salty, like blood and vomit. Tear stream down my face. I wipe at my mouth and my face, trying to get rid of the physical signs of my terror. I look up the sky as if for some help. I feel so dizzy, tilting my head up.

My eyes catches on the stars and sees the second star to the right. It's still there. It hasn't moved. I'm not in Neverland, I remind myself as I stare at the star. The cool night air whips around me as I breath it in and focus my breathing, trying to grasp at anything to calm me down. And after what seems like hours, I do. I pick myself up and slowly make my way up the stairs and back down into the room where my brothers are.

They still sit there, completely bewildered. I try and open my mouth, but I can't seem to find the words to explain how I'm haunted, how I can't shake Peter, how I'm still terrified. I just begin to sob and crawl over to them and throw my arms around their shoulders. They comfort me and whisper words of encouragement, but I still can't shake the feeling of Pan.

We eventually fall asleep in a dog pile, but I spend the rest of the night in a half-daze, not wanting to go back to the nightmares, but also wanting desperately to be rid of them .


	3. Kisses and Thimbles

The next day, we rise early. I try and explain again to John and Michael what my panic attack was and they offer some semblance of comfort, but don't really _get_ what exactly happened. I give up eventually. They weren't on Neverland as long as I was and I don't think they'll ever understand my terror. So I give up and I tell them that I desperately need a bath, but when I go to clean up, I nearly shriek at what is going on in the bathroom. I don't understand how the toilet works, nor how to tell the difference between which knob draws a bath or which one starts this thing called a shower. Everything is so foreign to me, but Michael and John both patiently explain to me each appliance and soon I can wash the Neverland filth out of my hair.

Once, I'm clean, John and Michael bring in some clothes that Mary-Margaret or Snow White has sent over for me. She has been extremely kind to us ever since we got here. She sent us over dinner and made sure we had enough sheets and pillows since we haven't gotten a chance to buy anything yet. The clothes fit loosely on me and I feel odd walking around in them. It will take me a long will to get used to jeans and t-shirts, when I've been wearing nothing but night gowns for the past century. Now we venture out to go furnish our home and for John and Michael to enquire about jobs. They've both gotten so much older than me now and I've become the little sister. They are my big protecting brothers, but I still boss them around. Michael is now about twenty-one, four years older than me and he says he'd like to work with the police, alongside Emma Swan and her father, David Nolan. John is now twenty-four, and tells me he'd like to work at the school, and he tells me that there is an opening for a new librarian. They say that I need time to adjust to life before I begin school. I agree with them both. Everything is efficient and high-powered and extremely overwhelming. Cars are now in extreme abundance and John and Michael have one for each of them. They say that maybe if I can learn to drive, I can have one too, but I'm not sure I want one. They're big and hulking and quite terrifying. They also have phones in their pockets which seem to be magical, but I'm told are just very advanced technology.

John and Michael drive into the town's centre and we go to the furniture store which is owned by a man named Marco, who is a very skilled carpenter. Michael and John tell me to spare no expense on the furniture for my new room. Apparently, Father had invested in a phone company named Bell that is now extremely large and we have almost infinite amounts of money. They also tell me that Pan actually had a lot of money and now that the home office operation is over, we are now extremely well-off. I pick out a white rot iron bed and a wonderful white dresser and a sandy coloured desk and many other wonderful things. We next go to the hardware store and pick out paint-which is now apparently how walls are decorated- and I pick out a soft lavender colour for my room. I also make sure John and Michael don't pick green as a colour for any of the rooms. They readily agree.

Going through all the various shops today- the bedding store, the furniture store, the hardware store- is all very therapeutic. I'm able to actually have control over something and I honestly can not remember the last time I ever had that. It feels wonderful to be able to choose.

For lunch, we go to Granny's where I am overwhelmed by the amount of choice I have for food and all the new foods I have never heard of.

"What's a milkshake?" I ask Granny, who is the owner of the restaurant. She gives me a funny look, but then seems to recognize who I am.

"It's ice cream and milk mixed together. It's very sweet, dearie," she informs me. It sounds wonderful, actually. I order a strawberry flavoured one.

Soon our food comes, and we all dig in hungrily. I can hardly remember the last time I've eaten this well as I scarf down my shepherd's pie. We all reminisce about the old days and plan ahead for more good days. Soon, we manage to find a way to laugh and the meal continues getting better and better until the door to the restaurant chimes and the man known as Rumplestiltskin comes in, the man who is also Pan's brother. He shakes his head at Granny when she offers him a table and instead walks straight over to ours.

Although he did help me escape Neverland and take down Pan, I can't help but feel anxious in his presence. He radiates power and barely concealed violence, very much like his brother. He comes and looms over our table and smiles down at us.

"Ah, the Darling family," he says with a smile. "How darling." He laughs at his own joke and I feel my throat dry up. I smile and nod. He looks down at me and his smile grows wider.

"Wendy Darling, is that you?"

"Yes, Mr. Rumplestiltskin. I'm Wendy. I've forgotten to thank you for helping me escape," I say in my most pleasant voice. I reach over and shake his hand with gratitude.

"Think nothing of it, dearie," he says. "And please, call me Mr. Gold."

"So what brings you here, Mr. Gold?" John asks.

Mr. Gold smiles at all of us. "Well, I returned to my shop and I discovered something that belongs to your sister." Out of his pocket he retrieves a tiny blue velvet box, one that might hold a ring and slides it over the table.

"I believe this is yours, Ms. Darling," he pats the box and waits patiently for me to open it. I've not gotten my head wrapped around the idea of Mr. Gold's shop yet, but it seems as if his shop is where everyone's lost and important items end up. I can't imagine what this could be. I quickly snatch it up and open it slowly.

I nearly drop the box when I see what it is. It's a tiny, golden thimble. One that my mother had given to me and told me it was for me to use when I had grown up and learned to sew and mend for my children. I would have been delighted with the discovery if it had just been that. I had also given this to Peter he first time I had ever been to Neverland. I had told him it was a kiss when he hadn't known what a kiss was. I had been completely taken with him up until the point where he told me he didn't want me and had sent me away the first time. This is a perfect representation of all my mistakes and missed opportunities all rolled into once tiny little thimble. I didn't appreciate my future as a grown-up until I gave it away foolishly to the person who had ruined my life.

However, John and Michael are delighted with it and immediately begin to thank Mr. Gold profusely for reuniting me with something of our mother's. If only they knew what it really meant. I feel like hurling it across the room thinking of Peter, but I can't bear to let it go since it was one of the last things my mother had ever given to me.

"You know, dearie, if you don't want to use it for its intended purpose, it can be made into a necklace, to keep with you always," Mr. Gold offers. Before, I can answer, Michael and John have already agreed to it. Great.

I turn it over in my hand and my heart skips another beat. On the bottom edge of it, in the tiniest of scrawl, are the words 'A Kiss'. I know it wasn't engraved when my mother gave it to me and so it must have been done by Peter. I want to scream that he's defiled the last gift my mother gave to me. The metal feels hot on my hand and I nearly throw it back to Mr. Gold. When he sees my pained expression, he merely just winks at me.

"Come back tomorrow to pick it up, dearie. No charge, on the house, a welcome to town," he says and with that he's gone.

Once he's gone, John and Michael begin to sing his praises about how he's helped us connect to our past. If only they knew which part of the past they were speaking of.


	4. The New Storybrooke Wendy

The next morning, Snow White knocks on our door early with groceries, while John and Michael are out finalizing their jobs. I groggily answer the door and almost don't recognize her. Last night, I had the same panic attack as the night before, but I kept it quiet and didn't tell my brothers about it. This is just something I'll have to deal with on my own. I don't know if I can go much longer with this little sleep.

She brings in many new food ideas I am not sure of and ones that I once knew but now have apparently change. Many of the appliances have changed and there are many things that I never even knew existed. There is a microwave which is like a very tiny oven and there is a blender which makes sounds like thunder and grinds things up into a pulp. Mary Margaret uses this device to make me this thing called a smoothie with fruits, which I recognize like strawberries and blueberries, and ones that are very foreign like bananas. Apparently, it's very easy to get around in this world with fast planes and boats. It's all very wonderful.

"Thank you very much, Mary Margaret," I say as I slurp back the smoothie. It is very delicious, but hard to drink without making lots of noise. She also toasts some bread for me and slathers it in jam and butter. I scarf it all down.

"No problem, Wendy. I just want to make sure you are all getting used to all of this. I know it's all very overwhelming," she tells me. I blush, because it is very true.

"It's taking some time to get used to. I'm sure I'll get the hang of it eventually."

"Well, don't worry about it. Most of us in town aren't fully caught up on how to use all of the technology today. The ones who grew up in this world are very good, but many others are very behind. Grumpy doesn't even know what a DVD is," she says, laughing. I'm sure I would find that joke funny if I knew what a DVD was. She stops laughing and apologizes for leaving me in the dust. We continue on talking as I scarf down my breakfast. I've lost nearly all my manners after living with the Lost Boys for so long.

Soon there is a lull in the conversation, and Mary Margaret looks me up and down. "Do you have any clothes that aren't nightgowns, Wendy?"

I laugh a little and shake my head. "Peter wasn't very big on fashion in Neverland. I had one or two nightgowns and that was it. It wasn't a big problem since I was in my treehouse most of the time." Mary Margaret's smile dulls as I talk about Peter. I keep wanting to put him in the past, but even trapped in Pandora's box, he still has a way to cling tightly to me in my life.

She shakes herself and then says, "Well, maybe, we should call up Tinker-bell and go shopping! Nightgowns aren't the most practical attire for right now." Shopping sounds tiring, but getting out of these nightgowns and letting go of my Neverland self might just be the best way to finally push Peter out of my life. I agree and soon enough Mary Margaret, Tinker-bell and I are at a store called the Empress' New Clothes. The lady behind the counter is named Maya and I learn that before Storybrooke she was an empress who had a run in with some seamstresses who were after her kingdom. She tells us all about this as she picks out many new clothes for Tinker-bell and me. When I check the price tags on the clothes, I nearly faint. Maya calmly explains to me that this is just inflation and the price of the clothes is all relative to how much people make nowadays. I still feel like fainting however.

I try on many different dresses and skirts and shirts which are all very pretty and are in an array of wonderful hues of pinks and sky blues and lavenders. The fabrics all feel soft and rich on my skin and I can't believe that I've been wearing these ratty old nightgowns for the past hundred years. I also make sure to buy many pyjama sets that are not nightgowns. The clothes are all wonderful and Maya helps me get used to the idea of my skirt going up over my knees. I can feel my father turning in his grave as I look at myself in a black skirt that goes to my mid thigh, white stockings that come up just above my knee and light pink long-sleeved shirt. Maya gives me a blue bow which she places in my hair. She couldn't know this, but this was my classic look before Neverland. I can feel myself slowly letting go of it all. I lose myself in the clothes and I nearly keel over as I see the final amount that I have to pay. Mary Margaret assures me that this is a fair amount for how much I've bought (which is a lot) and that my brothers told her it was alright to spend a bit more. I do, after all, have no other clothes. So I walk out of the stores with many bags in my hand, wearing a burgundy jacket that ties into a bow at the front with a white dress with embroidered flowers on it. And of course, my classic blue bow. We are putting away our bags in Mary Margaret's car, when Rumplestiltskin's store door opens and closes in a flourish. He walks slowly up to us with his cane, but by the movements of his body it is easy to tell that he doesn't need it.

He smiles at me, in an almost sinister way when he produces the tiny blue velvet box again. "Ms. Darling, you almost forgot to come pick this up," he says, practically shoving it in my hand. I feel like shoving it back.

"Thank you," I say dryly. And before I know it, Mr. Gold has offered to help me put on the necklace which now is a the tiny gold thimble held on by a delicate gold chain. I have to admit it is quite gorgeous. Everyone watches me expectantly as I quickly put on the necklace. It falls just above my heart and the metal sears my skin.

Mary Margaret, Tinker-bell and all step back to appreciate the look that I know have. Mary Margaret smiles. "I like it. The new Storybrooke Wendy."


	5. Saving the Day

"I very much like the new necklace on you, Wendy," John tells me over lunch at Granny's after my day of shopping with Snow White and Tinker-bell. I smile and thank him, but quickly look down at my meal as not to give away the fact that I truly want to chuck it away from me. I still want to grasp tightly onto the last thing Mother ever gave me, but both Pan and Gold have now tainted it and I very much want to be parted with it forever.

"The short skirts, I'm not so sure about," Michael tells me as he eyes my bare legs from under the table.

"I don't really like pants very much, so you're going to have to get used to it. It's my body," I tell him and stick out my tongue at him. He laughs and flicks his broccoli over onto my plate which I toss back at him and we play back and forth until John tells us, not so eloquently, that we're acting like savages.

Granny comes over and drops off my strawberry milkshake and tells me it's on the house, kindly. I smile over at her as she goes to drop off these new things they call hot chocolate and fries, which are sliced up potatoes that have been deep fried, at the table where the Charming's all sit. Delicious, but very foreign to me still. I'm still getting used to the idea of baths and clean water. I watch Granny as she slides the hot chocolate over to Henry, who looks down at it with a wrinkled nose.

"Cinnamon? On hot chocolate?" he asks, almost outraged. The Charming's all turn to look at him, concerned.

"Henry, that's the way you normally take your hot chocolate. Just like me, remember?" Emma tells Henry, concern growing in her voice. Henry falters as he looks around the table, his mouth hanging slightly ajar.

"Well, I know it is," he stammers slightly. "I just didn't know Granny knew. That's all." The Charming's all seem very satisfied with this answer and continue on chattering and prattling on about their recent adventures on Neverland. But Henry catches my wandering eye as I look at him, doubtfully. He grins and winks at me. I have to restrain myself and yelling bloody murder and memories of Pan doing the exact same thing wash over me. I want to scream and yell and tell everyone that Henry is not Henry and Pan is in him somehow, but it makes no sense. Pan is trapped away in Pandora's Box and can't get at anybody here, especially me. I must just not be letting go off Pan very well and that's why I think Henry is acting just like Pan. I shake off the feeling and try to concentrate on the food, but a shriek pierces through the store and everyone looks around in horror.

"Can we get through one meal without an incident?" I wonder under my breath. The Charming's and all the Darling's are up out of their seats before anyone bats and eye and we're all out of the restaurant before I even know it. The shrieking continues as we all follow it around the corner to the church. We all stop in our tracks as we see the inky black Shadow swoop down onto Mother Superior and catch her by the neck. Her shadow is ripped from her faster than anyone can breathe a word to stop it. She falls to the ground, lifeless.

I feel like shrieking as I see Pan's constant companion, something that I have no longer than Peter himself, zip off over the trees and out of our site. Emma dashes over to Mother Superior and checks for a pulse, shaking her head solemnly. "She's gone," she says. We all stare at each other dumbfounded before Regina breaks the silence.

"Pan is back," she says with barely controlled anger.

"That isn't possible. He's trapped in the box," Mary Margaret puts in and I almost want to believe her.

"Pan must be controlling it from inside the box," Emma quickly deduces. I feel like saying that Henry is somehow Pan but I can't find the words. And as I turn to look at Henry, even the idea dies on my tongue as I see him cling to Regina and quickly tell myself that Henry being Pan is impossible and that he is just a young boy, who happens to be very good at winking.

"Mom, you need to protect me from Pan. I'm so scared," Henry tells Regina, clinging tightly to her coat. Emma sees this and comes over and reassures him that she will keep him safe.

"I think I can handle this one, Emma. Remember, I had ten years of soothing him before you came along?" Regina tells her mildly. Emma looks as if she's just been slapped in the face and looks to Henry for some sympathy, but he just looks on at Regina.

"We'll go to my vault and stay there until this whole Pan mess is sorted out," Regina reassures him and Henry smiles docilely and they both begin to make their way away from the group.

As soon as Regina is out of ear shot, Emma turns to the group and begins to instruct everyone on what to do. She instructs Belle, John and Michael to help move the Blue Fairy to a safer place. Then she turns to Mary Margaret, David and I. She looks at me and just shakes her head. I know what's coming. "Wendy, I'm sorry but we're going to have to visit an old friend."

I can see Michael and John's horrified looks as I walk into Gold's shop fully prepared to take Pan out of his boxy prison. I twist around my thimble, nervous. The store bell jingles as we all pass through the entrance way and Gold stands at the counter, looking over a dusty old volume in a language that I don't recognize and is probably not from this world. He looks up concerned as Emma walks purposefully towards him, a woman on a mission.

"Ms. Swan?" he asks. Even the Dark One with all this unlimited power seems to be more than slightly intimidated by Emma when she's on a mission.

"Pan is controlling the Shadow, that escaped from the sail, from inside the Box. He just killed the Blue Fairy," Emma explains to him quickly. I feel like speaking up and putting in that I am not very sure that Pan is even in the Box in the first place. It makes no sense, but maybe somehow Pan is Henry and Henry is Pan. I keep quiet. It's to far-fetched to even be an option.

"That's impossible. The Box traps all magic inside. Pan couldn't possibly be controlling the Shadow. You need to be outside the Box," he tells Emma logically, trying to shut her down. He obviously does not want to open up that box and he has very good reason not to.

"Well, that's the only explanation," David says, hands on hips looking frustrated. Mary Margaret nods vigorously in agreement, but I twist my lips, very aware that there is another explanation. Gold looks over Emma's shoulder at me and I see him grin, one that is very similar to his brother.

"I think Ms. Darling has another explanation," he says. Everyone turns to me, bewildered as to how there could possibly be another explanation to their problem. For people who constantly do and see the impossible, they seem to be missing a very impossible explanation.

"Yes. I think there is another explanation," I say as I fiddle with my thimble, growing more and more thankful for it. "You say, Mr. Gold, that Peter can't control the Shadow from inside the Box, right? Yet the Shadow is being controlled, that means he must be outside of the Box. I know in theory that seems impossible, but on the boat Pan had a moment alone with Henry just before he was sent into the Box and I was thinking, maybe Pan had time to somehow switch bodies with Henry. And I don't know Henry very well, but I do know Pan and Henry has been taking on a lot of his idiosyncrasies and such lately."

I see the pieces fitting together in Emma's eyes. "That makes perfect sense, Wendy. Henry has been acting very strange lately. He only wants Regina now. I just thought he didn't want me anymore," she finishes, sounding less confident and more like a mother who misses her son.

"Well, let's open up the Box," David says, trying to barrel through into the back of Mr. Gold's shop. Gold quickly steps in front of him and chuckles, waggling his finger at him as if he were a puppy who is not yet potty trained.

"Not so fast, dearie. If Ms. Darling is wrong and Pan is in the Box and still controlling the Shadow, we can't just open up the Box in the middle of town. We need to open it up where there is no magic," Gold explains, slowly as if he thinks we're all stupid. This is yet another similarity I see between the two brothers.

"The town line," Mary Margaret says. And almost as soon as she says it, everyone springs into action and we're at the town line before I know it. We all jog to stand at the town line as Emma goes over the line.

Her footsteps echo loudly as she steps carefully over the white line in the wet road. She turns and looks back at us. From what I've heard, since the curse was tied to Emma, she is the only person who can cross the town line as she pleases and thus is the only candidate to go over the line to release Pan. In her hand is a small black gun for protection.

Gold sets the Box down on the road and carefully, tenderly opens it and in a whirl of red light. It blinds me and I shield my eyes from it. I can tell the light has faded but I keep them shut. I'm not sure if I'm ready to see Pan yet. Then I hear, "Mom?"

My eyes shoot open. Standing before us, in all his glory, his eyes bright and concerned, is Peter Pan. I wait for the leap I always feel when I see him. It never comes. This is not Pan. I was right, by some miracle. I see Emma tense. The others can't tell and may think this is a trick, but I already know that is _not_ Peter Pan.

Emma cocks her gun and points it directly at Pan. "What?"

"What are you waiting for? Shoot him!" Gold commands. Emma looks bewildered between Pan and Gold, the two brother's facing off.

"Don't! Please! I'm Henry," he begs sincerely. I'm sure that all the magic in the world would never be able to make Pan sound that sincere. "Pan, he-he switched our bodies." I shake my head. I was actually right. This is amazing.

"You expect me to believe that?" Emma demands. Well, yeah, it makes perfect sense.

"Don't! It's one of his tricks!" Gold calls out angrily.

"No, it's not!" Pan, or Henry rather, protests. "He did it right before Mr. Gold captured me in the box. I swear." Pan makes a move towards Emma, holding out his hand, but she only readjusts her gun.

"Don't come any closer!" she warns.

"Shoot him," Gold growls out.

"Maybe he's telling the truth. Maybe that's why I can't shake this feeling that there's something off about Henry. Maybe Wendy is right," Emma theorizes. Well, I can already tell you silly people.

"Maybe that's what he wants you to believe," Gold says waving his cane dangerously like a sword. "If he steps over this line we're all dead."

"Alright," Emma says ignoring Gold. "If you are really Henry, prove it. Tell me something only Henry would know."

"I got trapped in the mines. I tried blowing up the well. I like hot cocoa with cinnamon," Henry says all in a rush.

"This proves nothing!" Gold says vehemently, clearly upset he hasn't gotten his way.

"He's right, Emma. Henry could have told Pan all of this in Neverland," Mary Margaret puts in. Or you could just ask my opinion.

"Pan might know facts, but life is made up of more than that. There are moments. He can't possibly know all of them. The first time you and I connected. You remember that? Not met, but connected," she says, begging him to tell her.

He nods shyly, lovingly. This is not Pan, people. "Yeah."

"Where was it?"

"In my castle, right after you came to Storybrooke."

"What did you tell me?"

"That I knew why you gave me up."

"Why?"

"Because you wanted to give me my best chance."

Emma lowers the gun and tucks it into the waist of her pants. "Henry," she says softly. "It is Henry." She races and embraces him and holds him tightly, tenderly, lovingly, just like a mother. The separate and Emma pleads to Gold to not incinerate them when they step over the line. Gold looks down sheepishly and nods. As they step over the line, Henry practically jumps into the waiting arms of his grandparents as Emma hands over the Box to Gold.

She smiles at me. "Good job, Wendy," she says and squeezes. "Don't be afraid to voice your opinion. Everything here is possible."


	6. Villains Don't Get Happy Endings

The heroes spring into action as soon as they learn what is happening. It all goes by in a a spinning blur. When we return to Regina's vault to tell her the news, we find her under a sleeping spell with the scroll to the curse that created this town gone. Gold deduces that Pan intends to enact a curse of his own and create his own New Neverland. Frantically we search all over town, getting a wand and all returning to Gold's shop to switch Pan and Henry's bodies so we can get the scroll back and stop the curse that Pan enacted. John, Michael, Hook, Bae and Tinker-bell join us as we search frantically around town for Henry who comes bursting out of the library, scroll in hand, joy all over his face. For the first time since I got here, I don't feel Pan radiating from out of him. It's a comforting sentiment.

He and Regina embrace, clutching each other tightly, obviously glad to have each other back. Henry passes the scroll over to Regina, she readily takes it and just as she's about to destroy it, a purple like erupts in her hand and she collapses to the ground.

Everyone crowds around her, terrified. It only takes a few minutes for her to regain consciousness, but she's up and ready again to fight and save the town. "Mom! Mom! What happened?" Henry frantically asks.

"I saw what needed to be done," she says with a grimace in her voice.

"Mom, a-are you going to be okay?"

"The important thing is you will be," Regina says, clutching at Henry's hand and then she opens her other hand to reveal the scroll which poofs away out of sight.

"No, he won't," comes an all too-familiar voice from behind us. I feel an electric pull as I see Pan standing in the street, looking just the same as he did just days ago when I saw him last. His eyes roam over the group and I don't even think he sees.

"He has the curse!" Hook shouts.

"That I do," Pan says waving it about. He grins his signature grin and waves his hand and I feel all my joints sticking together and keeping me frozen in place. I feel like I'm being suffocated and want desperately to scream. "Look at you all," Pan continues acting as if he hasn't just frozen us all. "A captive audience." He smiles, proud of his joke. "I could play with you like a pack of dolls, couldn't I?" His eyes graze over me again. I feel some sort of anger bubbling up in me. He's down me all this harm yet he doesn't even seem to recognize me. He meanders over to Bae and Belle. "I could play with these two dolls first, or I could start with my doll-face." Suddenly he turns to me and smiles down.

Even in my frozen state I can still feel the pull to him, the electric, sizzling connection. His eyes stare down at me, his gaze hot as he takes in the new look I've donned. "Wendy, Wendy, Wendy," he drawls as if it's some sort of song. "Look how pretty you are. I hardly recognized you out of your cage." I feel like screaming. "You're such a pretty thing, and oh look!" His fingers travel down my neck to the necklace. "You found your thimble, or your kiss, should I say? You believed in me, didn't you? I think you thought I loved you." He laughs bitterly and it stings because for a long time, I did think that. "Too bad, because the thing I loved the most was Felix and I killed him for the curse. You weren't ever really worth my time. Just decor for my kingdom. Maybe you should be happy I've never loved you." For never thinking I'd see Pan again, our first meeting since I betrayed him makes me want to vomit. All the words he's saying are daggers straight through my heart. I haven't had time to check my emotions about him and now with him here, I feel my heart being ripped into shreds with each syllable. He leans closer, searching my eyes. "But you are such a pretty thing," he says as his lips graze my mouth. I can't move but I can feel his hot mouth on mine and it feels so good it's painful. "I think I'll keep you around in the New Neverland, as a mother to everyone. Perhaps as the Queen Mother." He curls a lock of my hair around his finger and smiles down at me. But just as soon as he took interest in me, he's gone and is back to Bae and Belle.

"Wendy may have a place in the new world, but not you two," he says vehemently. "My little nephew and sister-in-law. How sweet. It'll be very hard to decide who to kill first." Then he rolls his eyes. "No it isn't. It's you," he says pointing to Neal. I feel like hurling myself in front of Neal. If he dares lay a hand on Neal, I will deliver every harm he does to Neal tenfold.

Suddenly, Pan is jerked back roughly by Mr. Gold who has appeared magically out of no where. "Don't you dare lay a hand on him!" he growls out. This may be the first the Gold has ever said that I agree with wholeheartedly.

As much as there is anger on Gold's face, Pan's is all indifference. "Well, how about this?" he says, amused. "The worm has teeth. What? You're here to pwotect your wuved ones?" Peter teases in a mock child's voice.

"I'm not going to let you touch either one of them," Gold tells him.

"Oh, I'd like to see that," Peter says menacingly.

"Oh you will," Gold counters. "Because I have a job to finish, and I have to do it, whatever it takes. No loopholes. And what needs to be done has a price. A price I'm finally willing to pay." Gold turns to Neal. "I used to curse to find you, Bae, to tell you I'd made a mistake. To make sure you had a chance at happiness. And that happiness is possible. Just not with me. I accept that."

"Pretty, pretty words," Pan taunts.

"I love you, Bae," Gold almost whispers. "And I love you, Belle. You made me stronger."

"Stronger?" Pan scoffs. "Yes, but still, no magic."

"Oh, but I don't need it," Gold says almost happily. He knows the tables are about to turn. "You see you may have lost your shadow, but there's one thing you're forgetting."

"And what's that?"

"So have I. I sent it away with something to hide." And then a shrieking fills my ears as Gold's shadow appears and drops a dagger into his hand and as he grips onto Pan. "You see the only way for you to die, is if we both die. And now, I'm ready." Gold plunges the dagger into Pan's back and I feel like crying out. Pan grits his teeth in pain and Gold shakes and the dagger stabs both of them.

"Rumple, please," Peter urges. "Remove the dagger. You can stop this. We can start over. We can have a happy ending." Peter's voice begs him to remove the dagger.

"Ah but I'm a villain and villains don't get happy endings." And with those words Rumple twists the dagger and Peter and he both explode into golden light, blinding me. And as the light fades, no one is left there but us.

My joints unfreeze and I hear Belle start to weep, falling to the ground, crying out for Rumple. My breath shakes and my heart pounds as I remember the words Pan said and how he just poofed out of my life for good.

Regina goes forward and picks up the scroll.

"My father did what he had to do," Neal says, his voice breaking. I reach out my hand to him and he grasps it. "He saved us." He pulls me in and holds onto me, his hands curling into my jacket, the only outward sign of his inner turmoil. "Regina, don't let him die for nothing."


	7. Second Star to the Right

The ground is wet and grey. The wind whips sharply and bites through my coat. The fields out here at the town border are grey and dark. The clouds cover the great expanse of sky that was bright and blue just a few hours ago.

John and Michael stand both at my side, solemnly, not saying a word. From the set of John's jaw, I can tell he's holding back frustrated tears. He always did that as a child, when Michael would take his toys or Father wouldn't let him join in on the parties our parents hosted that were clouded with cigar smoke and the clink of champagne flutes was constant. His jaw would become set and hard, his lips would pout and his eyes would darken. He would be silent until suddenly he would explode and scream and cry, demanding justice for the wrongs that had been done to him, he would do this because he always knew he would win, he'd get his toy back or get to come and visit the party, even if it only was for a few minutes.

Now, he doesn't stamp his feet and whine and cry, because he thinks he can't win. However he still acts like a child. He thinks that our happy ending is gone now. The curse can't be stopped, only changed so that all of the town's inhabitants, save for Emma and Henry, can go back to the Enchanted Forest, returned to their original homes. Regina has told us that since all three of us have been so heavily involved with magic for the past century, we'll be taken to the Enchanted Forest, too. Ever since then, John has had that terrible set in his jaw and Michael hasn't breathed a word.

I feel like whacking them both over the head. They're getting upset that we'll have to give up the house we have and the clothes we bought and the car we had. They're all just things. Sure, we're losing a lot and we have to go to another foreign land, but we're still together, whole and a family. I know they've been slaves to Pan for a century, but I've been a prisoner and I have long since forgotten what it was to covet material things. Pan could take, and did take, many things from me. When I was trapped on Neverland, I didn't spend my days sitting and stewing over that very nice dress I had once back home. No, I spent it mourning the loss of my family. He tore that away from me and it ripped me in two. It was the one thing I had coveted. It was the only thing that mattered to me. It was all I knew I needed, and I still stand by that. Now, these two ninnies are getting upset over losing some material items? They think Pan's won? What idiots. He has failed to take what I truly love most in this world and the next. I could care less about the car and the house and clothes.

"We'll be together," I say quietly. Both my brothers turn to me with wariness. I shrug. "It's true. Pan may have taken our new home and things, but those are just things. We're still together. We're still a family. Sure we have to uproot again, but you're being idiots for getting upset about a few things. This town and these things aren't our happy ending. You two are my happy ending and Pan hasn't taken that, Pan didn't win. Nothing else besides you two matters. And you're being a bunch of ninnies for thinking otherwise."

Michael's mouth opens and closes a few times like a fish, an obvious tell that he knows he's wrong and doesn't know what to do about. John looks away and his jaw isn't set anymore, his lips twisted in a grimace. I may look like I'm a lot younger than them, but I'm still their big sister and they're still my idiot brothers. I still need to set them straight.

John looks at me sadly. "You sound just like Mother," he says in a bare whisper. I laugh, but I can feel the tears in my eyes from what he's said.

"She always knew what to say," Michael agrees. This is not what I was hoping they'd say to my reprimanding. My heart twists at the thought of her, her soft smile and halo of blond hair, the way she always smelled of lavender and the sound of the rustle of her skirts. I wipe quickly away at my eyes.

"You were supposed to say sorry, not make me cry," I say punching John in the arm. Michael and John both laugh, and I join in but I still feel like crying. Mother isn't here and I've lost both my parents. The things Peter's taken away just now are all irrelevant, but even before this he took many more important things. He took Mother and Father and any chance of growing up to be normal. Those things aren't just things, they're everything that I held dear and loved. They were things that I gripped onto in Neverland to keep me sane. I thought that if I ever got out of Neverland, I'd stop gripping because I'd get them back, but I still have to hold tightly to them because they're gone. It's exhausting, but I suppose that's just how I'd deal with it if I were a grown-up. I know that one day Mother and Father would be gone, but I never thought I'd have to spend two lifetimes gripping on to their memory with white knuckles. I'm going to have to push through, and keep going despite not getting what I want. I can't stamp my feet at the wrongs that have been done to me, like Michael. I have to keep moving for myself and for my loved ones.

This is what my mentality is going into the Enchanted Forest now. I haven't gotten what I wanted, not in the slightest, but I still have John and Michael and Bae, and that's what's important. I need to grip tightly to them, and keep them safe and just keep moving on ahead. It's a waste of energy and time to mourn the petty little things we're going to lose.

The wind still cuts through me as all the townsfolk say their goodbyes to the town, to Emma and Henry and ultimately to each other. No one is very sure about where they'll end up in the Enchanted Forest, we won't all appear as one group, but in small pockets, as we've been informed by Regina, some of us may get split up, which is a huge worry for me. My brothers and I don't know the first thing about this world, let alone how to find each other when we get to this land. I hardly know fifteen people's names here.

"What if we can't find each other?" I wonder aloud. John and Michael both look at me terrified. Apparently, they haven't been thinking about the logistics of the situation. They may have a few years on me now, but I am still their big sister, who inevitably has to pick up their slack.

"Shit," John breathes. All of the swear words I know are from Neverland and they're extremely out of date. I'm not very up to date on these new cuss words but they aren't exactly very nice to hear. This, however, won't stop me from using them, once I learn what all of them mean at least. Being a lady never was my strong suit. I may not have become wild and evil and harsh in Neverland, but I did pick up their nasty vocabulary.

"Do you think you can get cell reception in the Enchanted Forest?" Michael says jokingly.

"It'll cost a fortune for roaming," John jokes back. This joke would be fine and dandy if not for the fact that it doesn't help our situation any and I don't even understand it. Ignoring my two joking brothers, I sift my way through the crowd, searching out Tinker-bell. Hopefully I can convince her to help us.

I finally find her speaking in hushed tones with the Blue Fairy while they both watch Emma argue with her parents about staying with them. They both seem wary of the family who is constantly at the centre of saving the day. They're heroes and wonderful people with hearts of gold, but wherever they go, trouble is almost sure to follow. Tinker-bell smiles warmly at me as she seems me approach. Over the century I spent in Neverland, she was the one person I could always fall back on for comfort. She was powerless against Pan, just as I was, but she was a friend and comforter nonetheless. I like the to think that I was the same for her. She wraps me in a tight hug. She smells fresh like spring and she looks less disheveled, more put together and much cleaner than I've ever seen her. She has a glow about her, and it's not just the fairy dust. She looks genuinely happy. It's understandable, she's out of Neverland and is doing what she aways wanted to do.

The Blue Fairy, or Meissa, smiles and meet and greets me warmly. Everyone is almost insanely calm considering that there is a great huge cloud of green magic not a half a kilometre away. It makes me wonder how often these people deal with curses and danger. No one hardly batted an eye when this curse came about. These people need a hobby or something. "Wendy Darling, I've heard so much about you," she says kindly. I'm not entirely sure what she's heard. All I've done for the last hundred years was sit in prison. "So nice to meet you."

I shake her hand. "And it's very nice to meet you," I return.

"So what brings you over here? I thought you'd be spending time almost exclusively with your brothers," Meissa says.

"Well, that's the issue. Because of the possibility of getting separated when we go over, I was wondering if either of you could possibly help me with the situation," I say timidly. I've never asked for help when it came to magic before, but like everyone else in this town, I know that magic comes with a price.

Tinker-bell smiles genuinely and shares an excited look with the Blue Fairy. I raise an eyebrow at their obvious conspiracy. Tinker-bell's smile turns questioning as the Blue Fair nods her approval. She quickly claps her hands, her face bursting with glee. "I can help you!" she says taking my hands and shaking them excitedly. I smile and laugh at her excitement, but I'm still genuinely confused at why she's so excited. "I can be your fairy godmother!" The puzzle pieces start to fall in and as the realization hits me, I'm overwhelmed by the feeling of honour. It touches my heart to know that my long time friend and comforter is going to continue to be one of my biggest supporters.

"I don't know if I should get a fairy godmother. I mean, I'm not exactly a hero or a princess or anything. I'm honoured, but I don't think I should even have it," I say, flustered. All I really wanted was a locator spell, but I ended up with a fairy godmother, the things that little girls dream of having.

"Wendy," Meissa says calmly. "You've proven yourself very worthy of having a godmother and of needing some help and guidance. You went to rescue your brother, Neal, and got imprisoned instead. You need someone to help you out, to make sure you have your happy ending."

"But I already have my brothers."

"Yes, but being separated from them is not the best way to secure your happy ending," Tinker-bell says dryly. I smile, remembering the real reason I came over here.

"But there's always a price for magic," I say, still stalling accepting Tinker-bell as my fairy godmother.

"You've paid the price for a hundred years. And besides, you were my friend and comforter all this time, I owe you it," Tinker-bell says, lovingly, squeezing my hand. I smile and look at the ground. I feel very unworthy of this, but I don't want to hurt Tinker-bell's feelings and I still do need a way to stay with my brothers. I nod happily as Tinker-bell squeezes me tight, repeating her thanks and promises that she will be the best fairy godmother she can be and I don't doubt it.

She pulls away and begins hurriedly searching through her pockets for her wand. Soon she finds it by simply just pulling it out of thin air. I know I've been living on a magical island free of aging for a century, but the kind of magic is still new and well… very magical to me. She quickly whirls it around and soon a blue velvet bag, tiny and smooth appears in her hand, the drawstrings silver and twinkly, like a star.

She quickly presses it into my palm. I look down at it, questioningly. She urges me to go on and open it. I pull the drawstring open and a bright flash of silver engulfs my vision. I reach in tentatively and pull out what looks like a star, the size of my palm, pulsing, glowing and full of light and energy. My jaw drops at its beauty. "What is it?"

Meissa smiles. "After Pan died, Neverland collapsed in on itself, leaving where it was, the second star to the right, vacant. He originally used the star to find what his heart desired, Neverland. Now that it's gone, it can be used to find what your heart desires," she explains. She says Pan's name almost as a whisper, careful not to accept me. It's clear she doesn't want to upset me. But I don't see this as something that is terrifying and can hurt me just because Pan once used it. I can reclaim it for good. I can show Pan, even in death, that I can change the aftermath of his actions and reclaim as my own, for good. I stare at it brightly, this is my chance to take what Pan ruined and make it new and good again. I smile at it, thoughtfully. "Is it alright that it was used by Pan?"

I nod, smiling at the star and then at Meissa and Tinker-bell. "I'm reclaiming what Pan ruined, this is perfect," I tell them. "I'm just not entirely sure how to use it." They giggle and quickly explain that all I need to do is let it go and think of what I truly desire, which in this case would be my two brothers and it will lead me to them. I quickly thank both of them for their help and return to John and Michael who are completely fascinating with the tiny, glowing, hovering star. They smile and laugh like little boys as the poke at it. I don't know what they expect to gain from this, but it certainly does entertain them and get their mind off the fact that we're about to be transported to another world by a curse.

And that's how all three of us remain, as children as the curse inches forward, engulfing the town and ultimately us. We play like we were long, long ago and forget how scary the world is and just play together like the children we were supposed to be. We crowd over a star that we keep us together and laugh at the silliest thing. That's how we are when the curse finally comes and settles on the Darling siblings.


	8. The New Enchanted Forest Wendy

The first thing I think as I'm hurled out of the blackness is that I am going to be sick. I see a blur of green and shafts of light and suddenly my hands are grasping solid earth and I am throwing up onto the grass. I cough and wheeze and dry heave as tears sting my eyes. Not exactly the nicest way to start off my existence in a new world. Soon I feel strong hands on my back, rubbing soothing circles and there's a deep voice whispering words of comfort. Once I'm finished, I stay still, not even registering who is comforting me and take deep breaths of this supposedly new foreign land. However, it doesn't feel as different as I thought it would be. In fact it doesn't feel different at all. The smells and the sounds and the feeling of the wind on my face and my fingers in the dirt and the sun on my back are all very familiar.

Once I'm composed enough to look around I find that it's Bae who has pulled my hair back and rubs my back, while John and Michael look on in horror. I almost fall back as I see what he's magically changed into, a leather jack, a billowing white shirt, leather gloves, tight slacks and a cape of all things. This Baelfire seems completely foreign to the one dresses in the grey colours of 19th century England and 21st century Storybrooke, but I remind myself that this is the land he was born in. He must feel like his bizarre get up, to me, is like a second skin. He offers me a canteen of water and I quickly rinse my mouth out, washing away the bitter taste. I slowly and shakily get to my feet and look around at the field that we've been dropped in.

The field is lined by trees which seem to slope up, creating a valley, hinting at the mountains in the distance. Everything is lush and alive, green and vibrant. I breath in the smell which is clean and fresh. This land doesn't seem that foreign at all. It reminds me of the Alsace-Lorraine region we once visited on a family trip in France. Everything is green and wide and beautiful.

I soon take in myself and see that I've also had a magical costume change like Baelfire and Michael and John who are in very similar outfits to Bae. I find myself in a simple light blue dress, with billowy sleeves, a low-cut neck that is probably making my father turn in his grave, a tightly fitted bodice and skirt that brushes the floor and my feet pinch in leather boots. Much to my surprise, I'm also wearing a deep blue cape like Bae. I survey Enchanted Forest Wendy and decide that all I want is to just be Wendy and stay in one style of clothes for a while, not Neverland Wendy or Storybrooke Wendy or Enchanted Forest Wendy. Just me.

"That was a wild way to start off life in the Enchanted Forest," Bae jokes. I laugh but I can still taste the bitterness of my vomit. We all stand still almost in a daze as I realize that it's not just my brothers who were here to witness my throwing up. Regina, Belle, Snow White and David along with Granny and the dwarves are all dispersed across the field, all of them looking fairly confused at being back in their homeland. Everyone is quiet and solemn, mourning the life they have known for the past thirty years but also rejoicing over being finally able to start their lives anew in their home world. However, I see deep sadness in Neal's eyes. He's lost his father, Emma and Henry all within the span of a few hours. I can relate to him about losing his family. I know John, Michael and I will never be able to fill the hole in his heart, but I will try my best to help him.

Soon a murmur starts in the crowd and I peak over shoulders to see that Mary-Margaret and David are having a jovial conversation with what looks to be a prince and a princess. I catch their names as Aurora and Prince Philip.

"That's Sleeping Beauty and her prince," John whispers.

"How do you know that?" I ask.

"In the movie, they have the same names," he explains. I can't quite remember what a movie is.

"Is that the one that helps you find things?"

John shakes his head, obviously frustrated that I haven't grasped the names of the hundreds of new inventions that I missed in the past hundred years. "That's Google. A movie is a moving story," he explains quickly. "Now be quiet." We continue to listen in quietly as Prince Philip and Princess Aurora inform us that all is well as the ogres have been defeated (when were there ogres to defeat in the first place?) and they are working on rebuilding their own kingdom. They also tell us that although the Charmings' castle was destroyed in the last curse, Regina's is still intact. Mary Margaret and Regina soon begin to bicker over to whom the castle rightfully belongs but honestly it doesn't matter. Everyone is going to be living there until they can get on their feet, so the ownership doesn't matter, just as long as people get fed and have a roof over their head and a bed to sleep in. Mary Margaret soon interjects exactly what I've been thinking and the group of us. Prince Philip sends a runner and within the hour horses and supplies have arrive for our journey to the Queen's castle.

John, Michael and I all stand around, befuddled. All of this stuff is straight out of a story book, literally and I can't wrap my head around it. I know I've been around magic for so long, but this is something else, with princesses and princes and ogres and castles. I feel like this is one of my bedtime stories come to life. John shakes his head. "I can't believe we're here," he says.

Michael nods. "It's not as different as I though it would be, you know?" he says with disbelief heavy in his voice.

"What did you think there would be unicorns or something?" I say jabbing Michael in the side. He smiles at me and pulls me into what I think will be a heartfelt hug but ends up being him giving me a noogie. After a hundred years, he hasn't .

A clearing of a throat stops us from our family moment and David stands awkward behind us, a huge grey horse behind him. I haven't gotten to know the only father figure in the Charming family very well, of course I know all the others, but when David and I met he was in the middle of dealing with the fact that he was cursed to stay in Neverland forever and he seemed very preoccupied. I never got a chance to get to know him and now he just seems like one of Father's friends, very nice but never knowing what to say.

He gives us a tight smile. "This is Ash, your horse. Philip's horses all have their supplies strapped to them." He thrusts the reigns at John, who stares at the huge horse in pure terror. In London, we were well-off but not well-off enough to have horse riding lessons. We were city children and never dreamed of riding a horse as it galloped through the fields. We only saw them as the big animals that policemen rode and that will trample you if you get too close. From John's and Michael's looks, I can tell their knowledge of horses hasn't changed.

David sees our nervous looks and almost laughs. "The ride is barely half a day to Regina's. One of you can just sit on the horse while the others walk on ahead. I suggest Wendy. I saw how sick you were from the portal. You should rest." I nod shyly at David, thankful for his consideration and more than slightly mortified everyone heard me throw up. "We're going to be heading off in a little while, so get ready."

So we do, and us trying to get ready consists of us trying to get up on the horse and failing miserably until Neal comes over and gives us all a lesson horses and instructs 'No, Michael, don't put your finger in it's mouth, because it _can_ and _will_ bite it off'. Soon enough we're off and adventuring in the new land, going towards our temporary home.


	9. Bae's Plan

That evening, Baelfire, John, Michael and I all sit around the fire, bone-tired and weary. It's been a long day and we weren't able to get to the castle because the Wicked Witch of the West is taking residence there. Apparently the Land of Oz exists and its residents enjoy stealing castles. The whole thing seems tiring and I feel terribly sorry for the Charming's and Regina. All they want is to start and new life, but it seems as if fate just constantly loves to block their way. It's very sad, but it's also monotonous and it doesn't much involve the six of us. I'd love for them to get their castle but I have my own family that I need to keep safe and get a home for.

Neal rips off a piece of bread absent-mindedly. The whole day he and Belle have been close together, constantly whispering about something, he's hardly said a word to any of us. Now, his eyes glaze over as John and Michael try to keep up a cheery conversation, but no one else is participating until suddenly Neal pipes, "I want to go find my father."

"But he's dead," John says bluntly. Sometimes I wish John wasn't so blunt, he's never had a way with being eloquent. Neal all but rolls his eyes.

"Yes, but we never saw his dagger," Neal counters. I'm not sure how you can counter the fact that Mr. Gold is dead, but Neal somehow manages it. "I want to go to my father's castle and see if there is anyway to bring him back. I'm not even entirely sure if he's dead." Neal's voice started out excited but soon falters as he realizes that if his father isn't dead, then what does that mean of Pan? We let the question hang in the air. I haven't once uttered his name while we've been in this world and I intend to keep it that way.

There is silence around the campfire. John and Michael both squirm and I can see both of them coming up with answers to this request for them to help Neal find his father and possibly Henry and Emma. They want to break it to him that there's no hope, there's no way Gold is still alive, that being reunited with his son and the mother of his child is impossible. They see it as impossible and only because they don't love Henry and Emma and Gold like Neal does. I know that if it was me that Neal was asking to find, they would agree in a heartbeat. They never gave up hope for me even when it was impossible and I never gave up hope for them or for Neal. Neal is missing a piece of his heart, just as they did, but they can't see it because they can't get passed the fact because they don't see the love Neal has for his other family members, but I do.

"I'll help," I say quietly. Before John or Michael can form a retort, I say, "I went to Neverland to find you even though it was almost impossible and John and Michael never gave up hope for me. I'll help you." As my words hang, the silence settles down. Michael and John both realize where Neal is coming from now, not just a wild and dangerous side, but a side out of love that never gives up, true love. I don't know if it's a good idea to go snooping in the Dark One's castle, but I'll do anything for my family and right now, Neal needs it. His heart is broken and if this can mend it, then so be it.

"We'll do it," Michael says, nodding his head. John murmurs his support, too. The glow from the fire lights up all my brother's faces and I can see a shimmer of their old selves, their childlike faces. I can see us again, all in our brownstone in London, gathered round each other, promising to protect and help the others over the light of a candlestick. I'm the only one who looks the same from that memory a long time ago and I hope I can be the one to help us hold onto that promise to protect and love each other no matter what. We're family and I indeed to keep it that way.

"Are you sure?" Neal asks timidly, but with concern evident in his voice.

"We love you, Bae. If this helps you, of course we will do it," John reassures. Neal beams at us, and I can see relief roll off him. How could he have been worried we'd say no? He's our brother, we'd do anything for him. My worry about losing those four little children, huddling together with promises of protection is gone. I see the little children just the same huddled around the fire, hundreds of years older, hundreds of years wiser but still just as loving and protective.


	10. Home

It takes about a week until people start to realize that their livelihoods aren't contingent on the Charming's and Regina getting their castle back. After a day out hunting, the dwarves return back with more than just food. They've found their old house deep in the woods. Their cheeks are pinky and rosy and they look like children who just found a lost toy. They talk excitedly and word spreads that the dwarves found their old home, and that there's no more need to stick around and wait for a castle that isn't theirs. Snow White's face falls as many people head out from camp, the fairies follow the dwarves, knowing their hollow must be intact, soon Granny and Red and eventually the twenty other people who landed in the same field as my family. But unlike them, we hang back, reluctant.

It's not that we don't want to go, nor is it that we want to go live in the castle. We just don't have a home in this new land and are stuck in limbo. I desperately want just a place that I can call home. I've lived in camps for a century, and although there is much less violence in this one, I still desperately want a house. It's the foundation of starting over again.

Neal says that his father had many properties all around the Enchanted Forest, not just the Dark Castle. The only problem is people can only find the Dark Castle if they've found it before, and it's been thirty years since Belle was there and two hundred since Bae was there. Neither of them can seem to remember where it is, and without the castle, the other properties can't be found.

We all just lie around the camp, aimlessly collecting supplies. I can see John and Michael growing agitated and frustrated that we are nowhere close to finding a home. I think their consolation in coming here was that we would almost immediately have one, but no such luck. All I want is to find a home for my brothers and I.

 _All I want is a home_ , circles around in my mind for the better part of the day as I mend the Merry Men's jackets. I work aimlessly, my thimble reminding me painfully of all the homes I've lost. The noon day sun catches its shine and it bursts forth with light, almost like a star.

A star! I have no idea why I haven't thought of this before. I quickly leap from my seat as I begin digging in my pockets, searching for that wonderful velvet bag. I'm not sure if the house is the one thing in the world I desire, for after all it is just a material possession, but what it will bring is so much more and I just hope that that is what works.

I slyly take it out of it's bag and look around, making sure that my brother's don't know that I'm about to venture off into the woods alone. I don't want to get their hopes up about the house.

The star prickles in my hand, and as I open my palm, I see it brightly burning a wonderful silver. I let it out of my hand and immediately watch it zip through the forest. I chase after it, my hair and cape flying after me as I race through the damp woods. Branches and brambles tear at the bottom of my dress, but I race on, following the bright, beautiful star. The dead leaves squish under my feet and I nearly lose my footing multiple times as the ground begins to slope down. I grab for the tree's that eventually become fewer in numbers, and I can tell I am approaching the end of the tree line.

Suddenly I burst out of the woods, panting, and I see the star zip down the valley that I've been running down, and at the bottom of it, it nestles over a stately manor. It's made of wonderful red brick that jump out against the expanse of it's green gardens. The windows are all white. There are wide doors in the middle, leading up from a winding brick path. It's just like one of the manors Mother and Father always talked about buying out in the country. It's wonderful. It's beautiful. It's _home_.

But before I race down and see the old place and why the star has even lead me too it, I am yanked back by the hood of my cape. I turn around and see my three brothers all glaring down at me, wearing the same disapproving look. I don't know if it's because we're on a hill or because they are just that much older than me now, but they seem very large and intimidating. I feel as if I'm about to get scolded.

"What do you think you were doing?" John nearly yells. Oh, I suppose that feeling was right.

"You can't just up and leave like that without any word!" Michael puts in.

"Are you crazy? You could have gotten lost or worse," Neal sternly choruses.

I just smile at all of them. "You silly boys, I had the star and look what I found!" I whirl around and point to the house -our home, and their jaws all fall open. They stare at it together, stunned. This house will be the first one we've lived in together since the brownstone in London. I feel as if I might cry. But before any of my brother's can get teary-eyed, John points out, "Wen, we can't just go about taking houses wherever we please." Michael nods in agreement.

Before I can protest that the star lead me to it, so that it must be exactly what I desire most, Neal saves the day, as per usual. "No one's found anything in this area. This is the area where no one left, it was never abandoned. This house is right by the next town, which wasn't taken in the curse. I think this house was abandoned long before the curse ever happened."

"So this is just a normal abandoned house that Wendy wants us to live in?" Michael says, obviously not loving the idea.

"The star lead me to it!" Michael rolls his eyes. For someone who's been around magic for more than a century, he doesn't have much faith in it. "It has to be the house we're supposed to live in!"

"We'll go and check it out, okay, Wendy?" John mediates. "If it really is abandoned and we really like it, then we will see about taking it." John looks to Neal. "That can be done, right?"

Neal shrugs. "We don't really have any other options." This seems to make perfect sense to everyone because after this, they all start walking down the hill. The walk is quick, but long enough for me to quickly pick flowers as we go and as the house comes into view, I can see that it really is quite old and Neal's theory about it being abandoned before the curse makes sense.

As he opens the iron gate, it creaks with age and I can see that the garden is overrun and that the grass is almost as high as my hip. This place is going to need a lot of work. Neal walks up to the door and confidently knocks. After no answer, he rattles to handle of the door and it swings open. He creeps in slowly and this is the time that I remember he was a thief for a while. But after a few paces into the house, he stands up straight and motions for us to come in.

When I walk in, I'm met first, by a cloud of dust and cobwebs, but also by the sense that this is home. Passed the door is a foyer which opens up to a staircase and I can see the second floor in a square with railings. Off the side of the foyer, is a larger room with chairs and tables all cover in white cloths. The ceiling is high and the bay windows blast in warm afternoon sunlight, and it makes the room feel warm and welcoming even though it is very clearly abandoned. Michael grabs at a sheet and through a cloud of dust, I see a regal light blue chair, perfect for reading a book in. Michael plops himself in it, and surprisingly there is no dust. Beyond this room, there is a dining room which leads into a huge kitchen that looks out onto a large backyard with what looks to be a pond and a dock with an old boat. Back through the front foyer is a large sitting area that is lined with many many old volumes of books, and what looks to be a large office at the back. Bae flips through them and deciphers that the newest one is nearly fifty years old. It's looking to be that this place has long been abandoned.

Up the stairs, the second floor goes around in a square, with six rooms filled each with a bed and old dusty furniture, each with large windows look out onto different views of the valley. Four of the six have adjoining bathrooms.

Sitting back in what seems to be the living room, I can feel the words 'I told you so' heavy on my tongue.

"Well, I guess that star of yours was right," Michael says in defeat. I can see by the looks on each of their faces, they are in love with the run down manor. I smile in triumph.

Two days later, we move in.


	11. Sleepless Nights

The first night that we sleep in the house, I wake up alone in my room from another nightmare. This one was a lot like the other, with pieces and fragments of my life in Neverland mixed in with complete terror. Pan's face and laugh were everywhere, ringing in my ears at a deafening volume. I felt my hands being pulled at and my hair being caught in branches and little boys' grubby little fingers. The smell of the jungle suffocated me and the sounds of it and the cheers and cries of the Lost Boys mixed into the melee of Pan's laughter and I felt as if I were drowning in the noise.

I wake up in a cold sweat, grasping for breath, the sheets tangled around my limbs. I gasp for breath and I shove down the air. Tears stream down my face. I want to scream so badly, to call one of my brothers to my side, but I don't want the blank stares of them not understanding how I feel. Of course, they are sorry that I feel this way and want me to feel better, but they've never been captives on Neverland, they've never felt my fear over every little thing. They can't grasp it. It's better if they don't know. And because of this, I choke down my screams and sobs. I cover my mouth with my hands and cry. I shake so violently that I fear I'll shatter into a million pieces.

I sit on my bed, with my knees up to my chin and cry as quietly as I possibly can. The moonlight streams in and bathes the room in white. I can see everything perfectly, but I still feel as if the Shadow is there, in my room, spying on me and waiting for the right moment to come and choke me with its inky black claws.

Overwhelmed by the sense that the Shadow is in my room, I quickly light a candle and dash out of there as quickly as possible. I quickly pad down the stairs and make my way to the backyard of the manor. There isn't much furniture inside or outside, but I still manage to trip on the old furniture that we can't decide whether to keep or not. Getting furniture here is not as convenient as it was in Storybrooke, everything has to be ordered and made. We only have sheets and mattresses because Neal paid the woman at the furniture store a hefty fee to have the materials that same day.

I creep through the dining room and then through the empty kitchen and slowly creep out the back door into the garden that is really just a tangle of vines and bushes. I've slowly been getting it back in order, but there is so much work that needs to be done, I've hardly managed to clear a square meter.

By the edge of the yard, there is a bench that sits next to an old oak tree that looks out over the pond. I creep through the garden and turn around the tree to find a spot there, but nearly jump out of my skin when I see that someone is already standing there.

"Neal!" I exclaim. "You gave me such a fright!"

Neal looks up at me and grins. He looks just about as sleep-deprived as me. His hair has become much more peppered with grey over the past little while and there are deep set bruises underneath his eyes. But he still looks just as he did when I found him in our attic, tired, lonely and altogether wonderful. Having him live with me again has made my heart whole again. I can't imagine being apart from him ever again and I have trouble comprehending that I spent a century without him. He has a piece of my heart, just as John and Michael do.

Neal scratches the back of his head and offers a shy grin. "Sorry, Wen. Didn't mean to scare you," he offers. He shuffles over on the bench and offers me some space. I set my candle down on the ground beside us and take my seat next to him. "Couldn't sleep?" he asks mildly.

I shake my head. "And you couldn't sleep either?" Neal shakes his head also. "Why not?"

Neal shrugs and runs his hand through his hair. "The transitions been hard," he explains. "I lost a lot of family coming here." His words a laced with longing and I can tell that a piece of his heart is back on Earth with Emma and Henry and God knows where with Gold.

"I'm sorry," I say quietly. "If there's one thing I understand, Neal, it's missing family."

I see Neal's grin in the darkness. "Yeah, Wendy, you'd be an expert in that by now." I giggle at his joke. It's not very funny, but it does relieve some of my stress. But soon we both sober and he continues on, "I didn't have them for a very long time, but I feel like my soul's been ripped apart without Emma and Henry. I need to get them back." I glance up at him and I look at him intently, and I hope that he knows that I understand him with all my heart, that I know the need to go to the ends of the earth to be reunited with his family.

"I'll help you, Neal, with anything you need. I know what it feels like to be separated from family," I say, placing my hand over his. He looks over at me and smiles.

"I know, Wendy. It's who you are," he says. "You're the example I'll follow. It's amazing what you did, what you do." I blush and turn away. I've never heard praise for what I did in Neverland. Only Peter's jeers about never being reunited with my family. "Thank you for that. I should have thanked you a while ago. But thank you for everything you did, to get me back. You're the best sister in the world." I can hear Neal's voice thick with tears. I feel my own throat close up too.

"I'd do anything for you, Neal. You're the best brother in the world, besides John and Michael, of course," I say and I put my head on his shoulder.

I feel Neal's rumble of a laugh. "Whatever you say, Wendy. I know I'm the favourite." I burst out laugh and elbow him in the arm.

"You are not!" I exclaim. I poke him in the arm. "You're just the most troublesome. Always running off, hiding in attics. My goodness, trouble follows you everywhere." Neal laughs, too. And we both enjoy the pure moment of just being siblings and teasing each other.

Eventually, we sober again and sit in silence for a little while, until Neal breaks it. "Why can't you sleep?" he asks quietly.

I shrug. "I've been having these nightmares ever since I got back. I can't shake them. I just don't want to go back to them."

Neal nods. "Why didn't you wake one of us?"

I shrug again. "I don't know. I just feel like maybe you three wouldn't understand. When it happened on the first night back in Storybrooke, John and Michael really didn't understand what was going on… I don't know how to explain it to them, how I feel," I say quietly. I swallow down the terror I feel inside of me just thinking about my nightmares.

"Hey," Neal says softly, pushing my hair behind my ear. "Wendy, did you forget that I was also in Neverland? I may not have had the same experience, but I understand where you're coming from. I know how you feel. I had those nightmares, too."

"How did you get rid of them?" I ask, desperately hoping for a solution.

"I found outlets," Neal says. "I buried myself in things that weren't Pan. I moved on. But they're never fully gone away. I doubt it will ever happen." Neal sighs and rubs his face. "It was terrify what we went through. I don't even know if I want to think about it now. We, as humans, don't have the capacity to ever fully shake it." He shakes his head and looks glumly out over the pond. "I don't know, Wendy. Maybe now that we have each other we can keep moving on, together."

I smile and take his hand. "I like that," I say. "Together."


	12. Belle's Return

Days and soon weeks pass as we settle into our new lives together in the Enchanted Forest. We all fall into a routine of rebuilding and refurnishing the manor. John works on the outside of the house, stripping the sides of the manor of all the vines that had crept up over the years and now clung now the windows. He makes serious headway one day and we discover the old dingy laundry room that was constant pitch black actually had a window. Michael works on the inside of the house, redoing the floors, tearing up the termite-eaten beams and giving the floors a new shine. I continue to work away in the garden, pulling away layers of weed and overgrown bushes. Neal works out in the field with the wood he brought in from town and manages to build a few chairs and a wonderful dining room table. But I can tell that he'd much rather be putting his effort into bringing his father back. He fidgets around when he isn't working, his fingers constantly pulling at his clothes, twisting around each other. When he talks, there is a look in his eyes that makes him look like he's some place far, far away. He picks at his food and makes a good show of moving it around his plate. His eyes are bruised from many sleepless nights. He moves around like a ghost. I know it's because of his family. Even if he's with us, there is a huge whole in his heart that misses his own family of Emma, Henry and Gold. I understand it, too. I've been reunited with John and Michael and Bae, but there's still an empty place in my soul that Mother and Father left. I feel as if I should be mourning their loss more, but I don't know if it has yet or if it's been so long since the realization that they're gone that I haven't been affected by it. Either way, I can see Neal is still dealing with his family's loss, but I don't know how to breach the subject. But one night at dinner after a day cooped up inside from a terrible storm, in his usual blunt manner, Michael simply says, "Baelfire, you walk around as if you're a ghost. Is everything alright? Is it because of your family? Have you started to try to get Gold back?"

John chokes on his piece of chicken and spends a few minutes wheezing and trying to form enough of a sentence to reprimand Michael. I roll my eyes at John. Although I appreciate being polite and saying 'please' and 'thank you', the idea of impropriety has long since lost its scandal to me. Probably because I lived on an island with savages and a boy king for a century. Neal doesn't seem fazed at this at all, he just shrugs. "I don't even know where to begin, Mike," he says casually pouring John a glass of water, while John continues to splutter.

"Why not with your father's old properties?" Michael continues, ignoring John's incredulous gaze.

"Well, can't you not find them without the Dark Castle? And you don't know where the Dark Castle is to begin with?" I ask.

Neal nods. "Well, yes, but Belle's out on the look for it now. She wanted to go on her own and would send word when she found it. It's just been almost two weeks with no word from her," he explains, and that explains his extremely aggravated mood in the past little while. I nod in understanding. "I'm just beginning to worry, is all."

"Why don't you just go after her?" Michael says casually, talking with his knife and fork, but forgetting that there is food on his fork and it flies across the table and splatters the wall by the kitchen. John turns to him, incredulous. Michael hardly bats an eye.

"I don't know where she was headed," Neal explains. "It'd be pretty hard to go after her that way."

Michael nods logically. "Seems that way. I guess you just have to wait-" Michael is abruptly interrupted by a loud banging on the door. John almost chokes on his food again as we all look around at each other, hopelessly confused and very wary. We don't know anybody for miles around and no one from Storybook knows where we are. Someone from our past has obviously tracked us down. John stands up from the table slowly, as if he's dragging behind all our pasts with him to the door to meet with it again. Shaking his head, he mutters, "How rude, interrupting us during supper." I chuckle under my breath that he can still keep all his manners in check in the face of whatever has come knocking on our door.

He slips out of the dining room and goes to the main foyer as we all crane our necks around to see who is at the door. John creaks it open a crack and the lets out a shaky laugh. "Speak of the devil," he says, relief obvious in his voice. He swings open the door and Belle, stands in the doorway, drenched from head to toe by the storm that shakes the house.

Seeing Belle, Bae stands up straight at the table, nearly knocking over his plate. Hope shines in his face. My heart pounds as I hope and pray that Belle has good news. And suddenly a smile cracks on her face and Neal and her are laughing and clapping and crying. She's found the Dark Castle and he's one step closer to getting his family back. The rest of us laugh and celebrate a long with them.

We stay up talking all night long about the plans that Belle and Bae both quickly decide on. As it turns out, the Dark Castle is an hour's ride from our home. And although it is completely in ruins, the magical devices and objects and books that Gold left behind are completely intact. That's just about where the good news ends. Although everything is intact, it does not mean that everything is organized or in a language that Belle or Bae or any of us knows. There is a lot of work to do but I have hope that Neal will one day see the other part of his family again.


	13. Meeting Peter

I see the inky, black sidekick of Pan out of the corner of my eye as I roll over in my bed, unable to sleep when I'm sick with worry for Bae. My heart has been thudding in my chest all night as the hours pass on since he's been taken. I can hear John's and Michael's soft snores from across my room and the scratch of Nana's paws on the floor have long since stopped and I can also hear her soft snores from outside our bedroom door where she sleeps most nights. Mother and Father's quiet voices turned into whispers which turned into silence long ago. The house is quiet and even outside, on the streets of London, in the city that never sleeps, it's silent. No carriages ride past or stray dog howls in the night. It's almost as if the whole world is holding it's breath for Baelfire to come back.

I feel as if I'm still in shock from seeing Baelfire be ripped out of my hands as he was dragged off to Neverland. I can hardly believe it even happened. I'm just waiting to wake up from this nightmare. It can't be true. What I find even harder to believe is that I summoned what tore my family apart back here. I'm not sure how I've done it. Perhaps from wishing on that damned star, perhaps the Shadow just knew I wanted to go back. I've no idea, really. But it's back and as it raps on the glass, I know what's about to happen.

I slowly creep out of bed, taking with me my robe. I'm not sure what I'll need over there, but I don't think packing a bag will be necessary. I creak across the floor and stand silently between Michael and John. My heart squeezes at the thought of leaving them, of leaving Mother and Father. I feel as if my heart will be ripped to shreds if I leave them. But I have hope that I'll be back soon, and with Baelfire, to reunite our family. I've already said goodbye to Mother and Father in my own way, telling them how much I love them before I went to bed, but now I kneel down and kiss Michael and John on the cheek. I smile at their peaceful faces and hope that I do see them again. I slowly stand to go, but a hand reaches out and grabs me. I turn around quickly and see John, wide-awake, staring at me in confusion.

"What's going on, Wendy?" he whispers. "Why are you up so late?"

"I… I…" I stammer, but as I flounder for words, John's eyes wander over to the window and he sees the Shadow. His mouth hangs open. He shakes his head and quickly wakes up Michael, telling him, "Wake up, Michael. Wendy is about to do a very silly thing. Wake up!"

Michael to wakes up and rubs his eyes and ruffles his soft hair. "What?"

John tells him quickly, "Wendy's going after Baelfire."

Michael shakes his head. "Wendy, don't go," Michael begs and with his round cheeks and big eyes I almost stay.

I shake my head. "I've got to go, Michael," I say. "I need to save Baelfire. He's our brother."

"But you're our sister," John pleads.

"Yes, I'm your big sister, so you will let me go," I tell them forcefully. "And besides, I'll be back with Baelfire before you know it. Our family will be whole once again. Now, don't make a fuss. I must go." John and Michael look at each other warily, but soon nod and agree. We all hug each other tightly, whispering words of love before I slowly make my way across the room and open the window, that Bae said to never open, to the Shadow.

I go willingly, stepping out of the safety of my room, my home and my world to bring Bael back to it. The stars and air are clear tonight and there is a brisk breeze that cuts through my night gown. The wind whips at my hair and burns my cheeks, but I latch onto the Shadow and the inky blackness of it feels like daggers all along my skin. I grit my teeth as it takes of into the sky.

We sail on forever into the sky, over London and its rivers and eventually out over to the sea. This ride is much longer that I remember, perhaps because I'm not all caught up in the magic of it all. Perhaps because I'm terrified for Neal. Suddenly, we make a sharp turn up towards the sky and race toward the second star to the right and we go up and up and up so high I'm afraid we'll bust out of the atmosphere into space and then all the way to the moon. But then slowly, the night becomes brighter and I realize that I can see the tiny island of Neverland off in the distance. I can feel the warm tropical breeze and I can smell the salt of the turquoise waters surrounding it.

The closer we get to it, the more details I can make out like the white sand beaches and the coral reef off on the east shore of the island, and of course, the far-off din of the Lost Boys. In all its beauty, it still manages to be a place of terror. We soon zoom in on a cove and I tell the Shadow that that would be a perfect place to let me off, but it instead thinks now is the perfect place to let me off.

It drops into thin air and I scream as I plummet from a hundred feet above down to the ocean. My arms and legs flail in the air as I try and latch onto something- anything, to stop me from falling to my near certain death. I shriek as the water comes in closer and closer and I almost can't believe that this is how it will end, and hardly the beginning of my quest for my brother.

But just as I'm about to hit the water, I'm caught by a strong pair of arms and I continue to scream in pure surprise. My eyes are still squeezed shut when I hear a light laugh. I open my eyes and I'm brought face to face with the most gorgeous boy I've ever seen.

I stare at him silently and can't see to form any words to ask who or what he is and how in the world he's flying, or at this moment hovering about the water. And even before I say anything, he says lightly, "Why, you're the funniest looking bird I've ever seen."

"What- no, I'm Wendy," I stammer at this odd boy.

"Never heard of a Wendy-bird before," the boy says curiously.

"No! I'm not a _bird_ , I'm just Wendy, a _human girl_ ," I tell him, frustrate and a little flustered at how he's holding me and where his hands are. Boys back in London would never put their hands anywhere near me, let alone call me a bird.

The boy laughs and it sounds like the lightest, most wonderful sound in the world, fitting to the most beautiful boy I've ever seen. He's about my age, seventeen, but the light in his bright blue eyes seems so young. His dark hair falls haphazardly around his face and his clothes are completely dishevelled. He looks nothing like any of the boys I've ever seen. "A girl, you say?" he asks again.

"Yes, a _girl_ ," I repeat. For such a beautiful boy, he isn't very smart.

"Well, I'm a boy," he explains.

" _I know_ ," I say, frustrated. "Now, will you put me down please?"

The boy grins and simply says, "Okay." He lets me fall a little bit before he catches me, but its enough for me to let out a shriek. He laughs as I cling even tighter to him.

"You stupid, silly boy!" I exclaim. "That is _not_ what I meant."

"You've got to be more specific, Wendy-bird."

"On. The. Ground." We quickly zip over the beach and he sets me down. The sand crunches under my feet and the boy walks aimlessly over to the shore and begins to skip rocks. I stare at him a moment, completely frustrated and annoyed before turning to stalk off into the woods.

"Where do you think you're going?" the boy calls out from the beach.

"I have business here and it's none of your concern," I call back to him, not minding to look over my shoulder.

"If you want to survive, it is," the boy says and his voice seems like its just a foot behind me when last I checked he all the way back at the shore. I turn around to find his face inches from mine and swallow back another shriek.

"How do you keep moving so fast?"

"Pixie dust," the boy grins. Then he shakes himself. "Now, back to the matter at hand. You need my help to survive."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, girls aren't allowed on the island. And the Shadow doesn't bring anyone in without a purpose," the boy explains. "What's your purpose here?"

I glare at him for a second before answering, "I'm looking for my brother, Baelfire. He was taken. I want to get him back."

"Well, the Shadow won't let anyone leave this island once they've been brought here. He always has use for them," the boy explains.

"He who?"

"Well, Pan of course, he's the king of all the Lost Boys. He rules us with an iron fist."

"You're a Lost Boy?"

"Yes, technically, but I've gone rogue," the boy explains. "I want to get off this island, too. I can help you find your brother if you'll let me come along." His eyes are earnest and pleading and his face is open, but yet I can't help feel reluctant to accept the offer.

"Why should I? How can I trust you?" I say, narrowing my eyes at him.

The boy shrugs and from this movement, I'm struck by just how tall and lithe he is. He's not slender, but he is slim and fit, with narrow shoulders and ragged green clothes that although are worn and tattered, make him look powerful. "You can't but I know this island and I know Pan. I'm your best bet at surviving here." He sticks out his hand to shake on it.

Weighing my options, he really is the best bet and even if I can't trust him, he's shown me no reason not to. He did save me and has offered his help willingly. I take his hand and shake on it. He grins.

"By the way," he says. "I'm Peter."


	14. A Broken Family

It only takes a few weeks for Belle and Neal to find a spell to resurrect Gold. It's quite unnerving to constantly see these Storybrooke folk pull all these extremely powerful and rare spells out of thing air. I'm starting to wonder that they possibly just have them already and enjoying pretending to go find them. Whatever it is, it happens extremely quickly and almost always that the right moment.

But as quickly as the spell seems to be found, getting it together is actually a slow and painful process that requires the tedium of finding rare and tiny magical objects that although are in Gold's castle, are put in extremely sneaky hiding places. We comb over ever nook and every cranny for hours on end just to find a tiny piece of the spell.

This makes Neal antsy. He's never been one to be calm and patient especially when he's so close to getting his father back. His anxiety is a slow realization that creeps in slowly like the cold that creeps into this land. First, it's just a bare whisper of it, a hint that you can sense but aren't fully aware of. He seems agitated and his mind is always somewhere far off, plotting out schemes and timelines. Late one night, I find him in his father's study and I see that things are beginning to change.

 _I peaked into the warmly lit room and see Neal hunched over papers and scrolls and books written in strange tongues I've never seen before. I sauntered in and began to look over them with obvious curiosity. Neal barely looked up and it didn't bother me. We read in silence for a long while, but soon it grew late and I could feel the cold of the night creeping up into my bones and I realized it was already midnight._

 _"Neal, I think it's best we go home, it's very late and we're both tired," I told him, yawning._

 _"Let me be, Wendy. I don't care if you're tired. This is much more important," he saaid, offhandedly._

 _I reeled back as if I've been hit and immediately Neal looked up and he too looked as if he's been hit. Immediately he was standing before me, begging my forgiveness. "Wendy, I'm so sorry. I can't believe I said that. Wendy, I do care and I'll always care." His hands tugged at mine and I could hardly feel mad at him. He was just tired, was my reasoning._

 _"It's alright, Bae. You're just cranky," I said, putting my hand on his cheek._

 _"You're right. Let's go home."_

Then as the leaves begin to change, so does Neal's good humour. He becomes impatient and has little interest in anything that isn't related to his father. One day, he snaps at Michael about the fences around the manor.

 _"Neal, I can't decide between the oak or that pine for the fence. What do you think?" Michael had asked as Neal walked by._

 _Neal almost walked by him but back pedalled. He glared at Michael and said sharply, "I don't give a damn about the fences, Michael. I have more important things to do."_

John and I had to restrain Michael from giving Neal a good whack on the head. Neal, however, does apologize for his behaviour and is sincere about it. He reassures Michael that he does care about the fence and does believe his work is important. It makes it all the much harder to be upset with him when he gets into one of his moods because he isn't trying to be curt or impatient, he just wants his father back. I can relate to that, too. When I was looking for Neal in Neverland, I was never especially nice, I just wanted my brother back.

Soon the wind begins to pick up its pace and strength and it howls regularly, and so do Neal's bad moods. He seems to have more bad days that good. The bad days are bad, but the good days are wonderful when he is loving and tender and apologetic. He makes an effort but he keeps getting sidetracked by the whole mess. He begins to spend a lot of nights at the Dark Castle, and puts in lots of effort, even more so than Belle, and in the morning he has deep bruises under his eyes from lack of sleep. Those nights when he stays away, I don't sleep either. He isn't there to talk to and I spend most nights half-awake in a nightmarish terror. The nightmares get worse as I stop trying to deal with them. I know he needs his father, but I also need my brother. But I tiptoe around him carefully, knowing his happiness is much more important than mine.

Now, as winter is in full swing, with the trees bare and covered in snow, with ice hidden on paths and hanging off the house, and barely any sun, Neal's mood is at its worst. There aren't really any good days left and he just stalks around the halls, with his thoughts always flying. He always seems to be going somewhere and nowhere at the exact same time. He grows angry at any minor block. He grows worse and worse each day and John, Michael and I start to worry.

"We need to talk about Bae," John says in a hushed voice as we all prepare lunch one afternoon. He grates the cheese he has slowly so he can concentrate more on talking about his brother under his breath. "He is getting so anxious about this whole mess. I'm beginning to worry."

"Me, too," Michael says, not looking up from chopping up some carrots. He's never enjoyed dealing with serious issues and tends to butcher them with bluntness. So, to avoid butchering them, he just avoids them, which he does now. "Every day that goes by, he gets more and more obsessed with his. I don't think it's healthy. But what do we do? Tell him he needs to cut the Indiana Jones crap and give up the goose chase?" I begin to open my mouth to ask who in the world Indiana Jones is and why he or she is named after one of the states, but Michael puts up his hand. "Treasure hunter," he says curtly.

John shrugs. "We can't tell him that," he reasons. "It's way too cruel. And besides, I do actually think that it's possible to resurrect Gold, but I think it's just that: possible. I don't think it's a sure thing, but Bae certainly does and I don't want his world to come crashing down when in the possible event that he doesn't get Gold back."

"Then what do you suggest we do?" I say as I mash potatoes.

John shakes his head, obviously having thought through multiple plans of how to get the old Neal back. "I'm not quite sure. We need a way to make him remember us without making it seem like we don't care about him finding Gold."

"Great plan, John. Really," quips Michael. John rolls his eyes and Michael sticks out his tongue childishly. Honestly, they're both over a hundred years old and yet act like five year olds.

"Well, do you have any better suggestions, Michael?" John retorts.

Michael nods. "Yes, tell him this is a goose chase and that he's wasting our time and his and he's never going to find his father, who shouldn't even be found in the first place, for being such a bastard."

In the doorway of the kitchen comes, "Thanks for the advice, guys." I drop my masher and it clatters to the floor as I see that Neal has heard our entire conversation. My stomach drops and my heart is in my throat as Neal steps forward, his face and movements filled with quiet rage.

"Neal, it's not like that-" I begin but Neal cuts me off.

"I don't care, Wendy," he spits out. "If you guys think it's a goose chase and a waste of your time to be helping me find my happiness, then that's fine. It's not like you guys said you would- oh, wait! _You did!_ "

"Neal, we never said it was a waste of our time-"

"Shut it, John!" he yells. "If I'm not important enough for you guys to help, then you aren't important enough for me to live with!" I gasp and I feel tears sting my eyes at the statement.

"Neal, don't be rash. You know you're very important to each of us," John reasons. "We're just worried for you is all." John's voice is calm and collected but it doesn't stop Neal one bit. "You're our brother."

"Hardly," Neal retorts. "We haven't lived with each other in over a century. We hardly know each other anymore!"

"That is not true, Baelfire and you know it!" Michael hollers.

"It is! It's a complete sham to have thought we could all live together. We're too broken to be a family and you know it. Just admit it and let me leave."

"Neal, please," I beg. "Don't leave. You're my brother." I reach out for his hand but he snatches it away and takes a step back. His dark features are set in hard lines and I know I'm about to lose him. And suddenly it makes me angry that he's giving up on me. "Don't you dare leave me, Baelfire. I did not spend a century on that godforsaken island looking for you to have you walk out on us when you don't agree with us."

"You didn't spend a century looking for me, you got captured a few months in and spent the rest of the time as Pan's little caged bird. Wendy, you are so stupid," Baelfire grinds out and before I know it Michael is across the kitchen in a flash, with his hands balled up in Neal's shirt and he's yelling obscene, terrible, angry violent things and we all descend into chaos with yelling and screaming and crying and gnashing of teeth.

But it does eventually end with Neal slamming the door in John's face and vowing to leave and never come back.

We're all so shocked when we hear the retreating horse hooves and finally, realize that this is real. We all slump in the living room and spend the night silent, in shock and anger as we try to stomach how our family was just broken apart for what seems like the billionth time. But this time around it's different, because it was our doing.


	15. Kisses and Acorns

The jungle's heat clings to me as Peter and I traipse through the forest. I've read in school about this kind of climate, where the heat is inescapable and the moisture sticks to you. I always thought I should like this heat, but living in it not is not nearly as much fun as I'd imagined.

Peter and I have been walking around in this jungle for what seems like days. It could be days or perhaps weeks or even months. Time in Neverland, as he explains, is very funny and very hard to understand. No one ages here so there's not much point in it. "I stopped counting days long ago," he tells me. He tells me more about the time and the climate and weather, but also of the inhabitants and of Pan, the boy king. He knows an alarming amount about Pan and I feel as if he could have looked into Pan's mind and see his inner workings, from the way he talks about him.

"You must have known Pan very well to know so much about him," I observe as he lectures me about how the island keeps its youth.

Peter chuckles. "You could say we're one and the same." I don't get the joke but ignore it and listen to Peter talk. "You see, Neverland gets its eternal youth from the heart of the Truest Believer, you see." He whacks away branches as I follow behind him. I can hear the crash of waves distantly. It's become a common thing for me to hear along side the comforting drone of Peter's voice. His help has been invaluable and his kindness is so wonderful and unexpected. Over this past little while, I've come to depend on his relationship to get me through the fear of losing Baelfire. "Pan gets some poor sap to believe in him so much that he hands his very own beating heart over to him. Pan uses that childlike belief as a way to preserve the island itself, using the heart as a way to keep the island alive."

"That's terrible!" I say. I'm about to say something else, but just at that moment we burst out of the forest and onto the beach and I'm blinded by the white sand and sun glinting off the water. My breath catches in my throat as I take in its beauty. Back home is all grey street and rivers. I've never seen this much brightness and warmth before. It's like I'm breathing for the first time.

But suddenly, my eyes catches onto something looming to the far right of my vision. I blink at it a few times and rub my eyes to see if what I think I'm looking at is truly what I am looking at. I blink a few more times and decide I haven't gone crazy.

"Peter, is that truly a skull shaped island over there?" I ask, disbelieving.

He nods. "It's where Pan keeps his prisoners a lot of the time," he explains. "But it's not easy to get to if you don't go through Pan's camp. That's why we were wandering for so long." He almost glares at the island as he tells me.

"I didn't mind the wandering," I say softly. "I was with you." I look at him out of the corner of my eye and smile shyly at him. He grins back and I feel my heart flutter.

"I didn't either, Wendy," he says, smiling down. We stare at each other for a little while until Peter shakes himself and clears his throat. "So, uh, to get there, there is a little shoot out sand up ahead over there," he says, pointing to the west, "That can be walked over when the tide is low. It's a little dangerous."

I look a the spit of land, that has a few feet of water over it, the gold sand rippling in the sun and I look up at Peter, skeptically. How could that be dangerous? I've been taught in Neverland not to take things at first glance, but honestly, it's some sand.

"The mermaid's cove is just by it," he explains and I continue on staring at him. Mermaids? How could they be dangerous? "They're dangerous, jealous creatures, Wendy," Peter warns. "They like to fool around with the Lost Boys, but they are especially jealous of any girls." I roll my eyes at him and start to trudge my way down the beach. "I'm serious, bird."

I look over my shoulder at him. "Yes, Peter, I heard you. I understand. Now come on, let's go find my brother." We make our way down the beach to the spit and slowly begin to wade into the water. It rises slowly, first up to my ankles, then my shins, then knees and then to my waist. Peter tells me this is as far as it goes.

My body feels heavy walking through the water and the current from the sea pushes at me but I trudge along, with my nightgown, soaked and clinging to me. The water, however, is fresh and clear and feels wonderful after days traipsing through the stick jungle. Before I know it, we're both running around, splashing in the water, as if we're not off to Skull Rock to find my brother who's been taken prisoner by an evil, immortal boy king named after a kitchen appliance. We just become children and act as such and enjoy ourselves.

We swim and frolic and play and when the danger of the situation is pushed as far back in my mind as possible, that's why I feel a hand on my ankle. At first, I think it's just some seaweed or possibly a fish, but soon I feel fingers and stop to tell Peter, but as the words start to form in my mouth, I'm pulled under. I flail around hopelessly for the surface, for Peter, but it never comes. I'm pulled further and further out and away and when I take a moment to look around, I realize that I can hardly see the bottom around me and terror completely takes over me.

I struggle again, frantically for the surface, and manage to get a gasp of air before I'm dragged back down. And this time I see them. They're the most beautiful creatures I've ever seen, with long shimmery silvery tails, like moonlight on the sea, and long flowing golden sandy hair. Their skin and eyes are perfect and smooth, almost magically so and now I understand how sailors came to be drowned by these mermaids.

They swirl around me at a maddening speed and pull at my hair and clothes. A few times, I get pulled so roughly that I inhale the water. Their nails are sharp and leave long scratches down my arms and my blood mixes into the water. They swarm around me still and I don't know if it's the fact that I'm drowning or that they can speak underwater, but I can almost hear their silvery voices.

"Don't believe him…."

"Pan is trying to trick you…."

"It's dangerous over there…"

"Don't trust him…"

"He's not who he says he is…"

These warnings aren't of jealousy. They're of danger and lying and scheming. But my mind is so clouded from the water that I can hardly think straight and the edges of my vision start to blur and I'm certain I'm going to drown right when strong hands grab me and force me upward to the surface. I splutter, gulping down air and spitting up sea water.

The strong hands shake me and somewhere there's a voice asking if I'm okay, urging me to calm down, and to stop crying, which I'm apparently doing right now. I finally pull together enough of my wits to realize it's Peter. He pulls me up onto some rocks and I realize that we've made it. I flop down onto the rock and I gasp for air, realizing now what a luxury it is.

Peter too lies beside me, sopping wet and in the back of my mind, I realize that this is highly inappropriate behaviour. My nightgown is definitely see through right now and I'm quite certain we are lying far too close too each other, but all I can think this, "You saved my life, Peter."

Peter turns to look at me and grins. "What was I supposed to do? Let you drown?"

I giggle. "I suppose not." I turn and smile at him and for a moment silence falls between us. My eyes search his and he smiles down at me and I feel my heart in my throat as I look at him and think of all the good he's brought into my life. "Peter," I say, quietly. "I should like to give you a kiss."

He raises an eyebrow at me. "What's that?"

I splutter at the question and flounder for something to say. "It's a token of… appreciation," I say, and my mind starts to race as to how to fix this mess.

Peter puts out his hand. "I should like one." All I have on me to give is my mother's thimble that she gave me just before I left for Neverland. I search in my pock and am relieved to find it's still there. I place it in his open hand and for a second, his face is completely expressionless. Then it breaks into laughter. "Oh, Wendy! I was just joking! Of course, I know what a kiss is!" And in a moment of pure bliss, he leans over and kisses me lightly, sweetly on the lips. It's the most wonderful thing I've ever tasted and my heart leaps in my chest.

He pulls back and looks at me, delighted. He pulls me up, until we stand before the mouth of the cave. He takes my hand and slips something smooth and tiny into it. I open my hand and see a small, smooth acorn. "A kiss for you, Wendy," he says with a grin and steps into the skull.


	16. Night Terrors and Tumbles

It's been two days since Neal left. We haven't seen heads or tails of him but he must have come and gone at some point because all his stuff is missing, taken, moved, rather.

We all just mope around the house, unable to go outside and work on the house because of the pouring rain that hasn't stopped since Bae left. It's befitting. We all lounge about in the house, sometimes together, sometimes separately, all contemplating our parts in the unravelling of our family. We don't force blame on one sibling more than the other, but instead sit quietly and support the others in grieving Baelfire.

Not much is said, but what is is short and clipped and thick with tears and being on the verge of exploding with guilt. I'm not sure what my brothers believe, but I'm certain our family can still be reunited. It won't take a hundred years, but it certainly will take a lot of effort. But for the time being, I don't immediately chase after Neal. He's angry and hurt and he needs time away to lick his wounds.

Leaving him be however, does not mean missing him isn't a bad. It's a sharp pain in my heart, an ache my bones and a pit in my stomach that does not leave me for one second as I seem to just float through my days. Neal is my brother, he is a piece of my heart, and the thought of him never coming back to me sends me into a spiral of fear and guilt that I feel I will never climb out of. John and Michael, I'm sure, feel the same way. But remain quiet and steely about it, much as our father did when we were children and something awful happened. Often, when they get upset, they each have their own ways of stomping about and being babies about it, but this is far too serious for them to be children about. They simply wallow in the sadness and I join them.

But unlike them, I don't sleep at night. I know they sleep soundly, even if their hearts are broken. I hear their soft snores and rolling about in the night as I lay awake, terrified of the nightmares, unable to deal with them now that Neal's gone. He was the one who kept me grounded, he helped to chase the monsters away, as if I were a child and he was my father who scared all the monsters out from under my bed. I lay awake at night, my heart pounding, willing my eyes to stay open. Sometimes I succeed, but other times, the sleep wins and I slip into violent, sharp dreams of all the terrors of Neverland. These are some of the worst I've ever had. When I wake up from them at first, I'm drenched in sweat and all my sheets are off the bed, then next I find myself in my armchair and slowly I begin to wake up all over the house, terrified, heart pound and rather confused. John and Michael aren't awake for any of this and I'm grateful that they don't have this hanging over their heads.

One night, however, I'm having a particularly bad dream of being chased through the forest. Branches and wild boy's hands reach out and tear at my clothes and hair. The heat of the jungle chokes me. I'm breathless and terrified and my legs feel like lead but I keep running, knowing what's behind me. Somewhere in some part of my mind, I know this is a dream and I should try and wake up but I can't. I continue to dash through the forest and it grows darker and deeper, I can hardly see out in front of me. Then suddenly, I'm falling, tumbling down and somewhere, in my confusion and terror, I realize I'm no longer dreaming, but tumbling down the long set of stairs. I eventually land and whack my shoulder on the post at the bottom of the stairs. Pain rips through me and I begin to cry, though I'm not sure why. Possibly because my dream scared me, or because I'm very badly hurt, or maybe because I miss Baelfire. Whatever it is, I sob and I hear the pounding of feet from upstairs and I see Michael and John sprint out of their rooms and down the stairs in a matter of seconds.

Michael reaches me first and before he can even begin to questions me, I fling myself into his arms and sob even more. He holds me tight and whispers comforting words to me while John makes himself busy with getting ice and bandages and turning on the lights. With the lights on, everything seems much less scary and I begin to calm down enough to try and tell my brothers what's going on.

"Wendy, what happened?" John asks, standing in front of Michael and me. I push myself out of Michael's arms and I give my shoulder over to the careful touch of John.

I shrug and look down. "I fell down the stairs," is all I can muster out without bursting into tears again. John pulls at the collar of my night shirt (I make it a point to not wear nightgowns anymore) and applies the ice. I wince.

"I gathered as much," Michael says, unimpressed with my answer. "Did you get up to go downstairs and fall?" I shake my head, lips tight. "Were you sleepwalking?" More like sleep-running, but I nod.

John frowns. "You never sleepwalked back home. Why now?" he asks logically. I swallow. There's no avoiding it now. They might as well know.

"My, uh, nightmares got worse," I tell them as I run a hand through my hair nervously.

"I thought you only had those for a little while?" Michael asks.

I shake my head. "They never stopped." Michael and John look between each other, shocked. I'm almost afraid they'll get mad.

"Why didn't you tell us?" John questions, sound more hurt than angry.

"Neal helped me with them. He understood what I was dreaming about. They got better," I explain, tears clogging my throat.

Michael brushes my hair behind my ear. "We may not understand, but you're our sister. We'll try and help as best we can," he says softly.

"We love you, Wendy," John almost whispers. "We spent a hundred years working for Pan for you. If you think we wouldn't lose sleep trying to help you, you've lost all your marbles." He smiles at me. He finishes wrapping the bandage and cracks his fingers.

"I'm sorry," I say quietly.

"Don't be. We just don't want you falling down anymore stairs," Michael grins.

"We're all going to work together to make sure you sleep properly," John says. "Now, let's get some tea and try and get some rest.

The rest of the night we all stay up together. We read and drink tea and laugh with each other, until we all fall asleep in one big dog pile on my bed. In the presence and love of my brothers., my fear begins to disappear. I know there will be many more nightmares, but for the first night in a long time, I only have sweet dreams.


	17. Caged Bird

Skull Rock is not nearly as impressive as I thought it would be. The inside is not much at all like a skull and the only resemblance it shares to a human skull is the large sea cave, yawning open like a mouth and the two holes at the top of the skull that I have yet to see. It's not very dungeon like and if this is King Pan's idea of a dungeon, he needs a dictionary.

We creep along the inside of the cave along a ledge that juts out over the water. I follow closely behind Peter, holding my breath. I've never been kissed by a boy before and never had I dreamed it would be so improper, both of us lying down next to each other, drenched. My mother would have a heart attack if she knew. I keep the acorn clutched in my hand. I haven't much idea of what to say to Peter now or how to act around him, other than brush profusely. He is silent, too, but I'm sure much more out of the necessity to stay quiet here, rather than him floundering for words after out kiss.

Soon we get to the back of the cave, where there are some large boulders that are stacked one of top of the other, like crude stairs. I'm sure they lead up to the dungeon are and hopefully to Neal. Peter begins to clamber up easily, as if he's forgotten that's completely drenched from head to toe. Climbing up for me will not be as easy, my arms and legs still ache from almost being drowned. Peter turns arounds quickly and pulls me up behind him. The rocks are slippery and it's hard to keep my balance as we climb higher up and the rocks get less smooth and more jagged. My knuckles are white from gripping the stone and my palms are bruised from my hands scratching the rock when I trip, which is often. I grit my teeth and keep going on. Climbing up these rocks is nothing compared to what I've gone through to get Neal back. However, it does take an eternity, and the silence makes it even longer. I'm scared I've done something wrong to make Peter dislike me now. My heart begins to thud in my chest and I feel as if it's about to burst right out.

Suddenly, Peter stops just before the opening at the top of the crude stairs. He turns around, eyes wide, a finger to his lips. I don't hear anything except for the echoes of the waves off the cavernous roof, but I hold my breath still. He motions that the's going to check to see if there's anyone there and for me to stay put. He rushes off quickly.

I try and calm my heart as I wait for Peter to return, hopefully with news that Baelfire is here. I feel as if my heart is about to burst right from my chest. I've never been this scared or nervous in my life. As the seconds go by, my heart pounds faster and faster in my chest and I begin to fear that I'll faint from the anxiety. Suddenly, a voice breaks the silence and I almost cry from joy.

"Wendy!"

It's Baelfire's voice and I bolt immediately up the last few steps and around the corner. I look around wildly for him and lock onto him a few paces from me. He's grimy and sickly and skinny and behind bars, but it's him. It's truly him. I rush to him and am about to reach into the rocky cage when Peter appears from behind me and yanks me back.

"Don't touch him, Wendy. I think Pan's put a spell on him. Look," he urges. I blink and take a moment to examine my brother closer and see that he truly is outlined in a pale green light. It's what makes him look so sickly and weak.

I push past Peter and kneel before the cage, the bars hanging between us, big and grey and ancient. They look as if they were truly a part of the cave. I grasp tightly on them. "You shouldn't have come back, Wendy," he tells me quietly.

"You're my brother, of course I'd come back," I whisper, quickly wiping away tears. "Are you hurt? Are you alright?"

Baelfire shrugs. "I'm not too hurt, but I'll be much better once you get me out of here and we can go home." I nod and smile at him. The idea of home sounds like heaven. The soft warm beds and fully bellies and my loving family. I'm ready to leave this humid, jagged jungle.

"How do we get you out?" I ask. Baelfire shrugs and we both turn and look to Peter. While I'm looking at Peter, I take the time to notice what this cavern actually is. The only cell in here is Baelfire's. It's otherwise empty for a large golden hourglass near the opening of the cavern that looks out onto the sea. I can't believe I hadn't noticed it when I came in but I suppose I was much too distracted by my brother to bother with it. And besides. after what I've seen, does anything really come as a surprise to me anymore?

The hourglass is large and golden. It's at least several of me tall and seems, like the cage to almost be a part of the cavern. It's outlined in a shimmery gold time and it pulses almost as if it's a heart. The sand in it is beginning to run out as it delicately falls into the bottom. I can almost hear the sand falling down, tinkling like little bells as it goes.

"What is _that_?" I ask Peter, bewildered.

His mouth is set in a deep frown and the mischievous sparkle has left his eye. Just looking at him makes my heart fall. He wrings his hands and opens and closes his mouth a few times in an attempt to find the words he apparently can not. Finally, in a voice just above a whisper, he says, "It's the heart of the island."

"What does that mean?" Bae asks, gripping the bars of his cell.

"I never thought Pan would keep it here," Peter says almost to himself.

"What does that mean?" Bae repeats, growing more and more agitated.

"I always thought he'd keep it some-"

"Peter!" I snap, tired of him getting caught up in his own thoughts.

"Sorry. It's what keeps the island and Pan powerful and immortal. It's a timer of the island's magic. Back at the fort, the Lost Boys would talk about it, and speculated where it was. No one knew. I half-believed it wasn't even real," Peter explains. He meanders over to it, and holds his hand up to the glass, just barely touching it, as if touching it might hurt him. "It's beginning to run out." He suddenly bends down and begins to feel around the wooden bottom of the hourglass, searching for something. Finally, he finds it and pressed against the wood. A tiny drawer pops out. He grimaces and shakes his head. "It's what I believed." He turns around to me and Bae. "The hourglass powers the island, but once it runs out, the island and Pan will cease to exist. However, the hourglass can be restarted, in a way. It needs a heart, untainted by Neverland. I believe that Pan intends to use Baelfire's heart to restart the hourglass."

Hearing the words, I take a step back, feeling like I've been struck. I cover my heart with my hand and turn back to Baelfire. He looks just as terrified as I do. I can't have come this far to be stopped by Bae's inevitable sacrifice. I rush over to him and sit as closely as I can to him. He hangs his head and I almost reach out to comfort him.

"I don't understand," Bae says. "I've lived in Neverland so long. How is my heart untainted by it?"

"You came back unwillingly. You know there is something greater than it," Peter says quietly.

Then more silence.

"Is there anything we can do?" I say, half-expecting a no.

But to my delight a hesitant "Yes" comes.

I immediately whip my head around. "Then what do we do?"

Peter scratches the back of his head and looks just as upset as before. I've no idea why. There's a solution to the problem. I can get Baelfire home. I don't care the cost. My brother and I will return home.

"We could switch the hearts," is Peter's defeated sigh.

My heart drops. I know what has to be done.

"I'll do it, then."

"No," Peter and Baelfire say in unison. Both of them begin reprimanding me loudly at the same time. Bae telling me that he isn't worth it and I shouldn't sacrifice myself for him, to go home to my mother and father and my nice warm bed. Peter tells me it's too dangerous and I'm too stupid to even consider it.

"I don't care what you say," I tell them both. "Bae is my brother, my responsibility. I said I would get him back home and I am going to _get him back home,_ " I say forcefully. They both continue to argue and so do I. The bickering and swearing from all parties seems to go on for hours. Until finally, Peter throws up his hands in the air.

"This is useless," he says. "You're too stubborn and stupid to ever agree, aren't you?"

"I'm not going to be swayed, Peter," I grit out. "I'm going to take Bae's place one way or another. You can't stop me." Peter lets out a frustrated sigh.

"Fine," he says, defeated. "Fine. This is your decision, you stupid, stupid girl."

I push at his shoulder. "I am not stupid," I say vehemently. I raise my chin. "I'm brave, and you know it."

Baelfire continues to hurl his arguments at me untilI grow too tired of them to ignore. I whip around and point my finger at him. "You listen here," I tell him. "You are my brother and I love you very much and I am going to do this. You can't change that. Now, you can either spend our last moments together arguing with me or telling me how much you love me. It's your choice." Bae immediately clamps his mouth shut and looks sheepishly down at the floor. I turn back to Peter.

"Now, tell me how this is done," I tell him, pushing down the fear that has unexpectedly risen up in me. He swallows.

"I'm going to take out your heart. It's this trick all the boys learn here. I'll simply grab it and then place it in the box. Once it's in the box and closed, the hourglass will be reset, your brother will be free and you'll be-"

"Dead," I say shakily. "Sounds simple enough." I nod at him.

"For taking out your heart, you need to make it as untainted by Neverland as possible. Put your belief in other things into it. Your belief in your family, your brother, in me. Especially, me, since I am, after all taking your heart out." He pauses. "You do believe in me, don't you, Wendy?"

"Of course, I believe in you, Peter. With all my heart," I say softly. I reach out and slip my hand into his and squeeze it. He looks surprised at first but then returns to his sadness.

"Thank you, Wendy," he says, smiling slightly. "You can say goodbye to Bae now." I nod. I turn and crouch down by Bae.

I look at him and try not to cry. I'll miss him and Mother and Father and John and Michael and my soft, warm bed. "I love you, Baelfire. I have since the moment I found you in our attic. And you've been my brother since then, too. I'm going to miss you very, very much," I say, voice thick with tears. "Tell Mother and Father that I love them very, very much and John and Michael that I love them with all my heart. Tell them I grew up. And that they're in my heart. Please?"

"Of course, Wendy. I love you, too. And I always will and you'll always be my very dearest sister. I'll be good for you and grow up. I'll be the best brother. I love you," Bae says, his eyes shining. I wipe furiously at the tears streaming down my face. I nod and turn away, stealing one last glance at him forever.

I turn back to Peter. "I'm ready," I tell him.

He frowns. "You've finished with your goodbyes?"

"Oh," I say softly. I reach up to my tiptoes, my hand on his cheek and plant a soft kiss on his lips. Peter wraps his hand around my wrist and pulls me towards him, kissing me roughly, desperately. I blush at this passion. It's very improper. Finally, he pulls back and smiles down at me. "I believe in you with all my heart, Peter. And dare I say, I may even love you."

He smiles softly. "I love you, too, Wendy," and with that he lands his hand over my heart and very slowly pulls it out of my chest. When I see it I feel as if I've been knocked backwards and my breath's been stolen. It's still beating. It's beautiful. It's red and shines gold in the dank cave. Peter looks appreciatively at it and grins. "My, my, what a fine heart. I daresay this is the most pure on I've ever seen."

I look at him, confused and terrified. "You-you've done this before?"

"Oh yes, many times," Peter says with a cruelness in his voices that I've never heard before.

"But I-I don't-"

"Understnad? Yes I know, you are a stupid, stupid girl, after all," he says, grinning. I stare at him wildly and turn back to Baelfire for answers, but when I look in his cage, he's no longer there.

"What-what did you do to my brother?" I yell.

"Oh, he was never there. Just a hologram. That's why you couldn't touch him and he had that odd light about him. I'm so lucky you don't understand magic," Peter says, smiling down at my heart.

"Then-then," I stammer.

"Here let me explain, you stupid bird," Peter says slowly. "Let's start with the basics. My name is Peter. Peter Pan." I gasp and feel as if I'm about to throw up. "You're brother was never really here. I just used magic to make him look as if he were here. Also, I didn't need your heart because it's untainted by Neverland. It's true that I need a heart for the hourglass, but not one untainted by Neverland. I needed the heart of the Truest Believer. And you, Wendy," he says, pinching my cheek. I slap his hand away. I feel like scrubbing my skin raw to get rid of his touch. "Played the part so well. I've been playing you-" He laughs at his own joke. "-so well this whole time. I needed you to believe in me and you did it so well."

"You monster!" I cry. I move to grab at him, but he squeezes my heart and I fall to the ground, clutching my chest. There's a sharp pain where my heart used to be and I feel as if I can't breath. I writhe on the ground as Pan stands over me, laughing.

"I know and I love it," Peter laughs.

He turns and walks over to the hourglass. I watch helplessly at the boy kind jaunts over to the drawer to seal my doom. I am just a dumb bird. Those mermaids were just trying to save me from Pan. I wish they had drowned me.

Pan bends to put the heart in the drawer but immediately stops and straightens. He takes a pause, and from what I can tell he looks as if he's examining the heart. He pokes it and I scream. He shakes his head and growls out a string of curses.

"I've decided," he says aloud. "I don't want your heart. I'd much prefer you as a prisoner. Much more fun that way. I can wait for another heart." I'm in too much pain to be confused at what he's saying. I think I try and stammer out a question, but Peter squeezes my heart again and I shriek.

His footsteps echo loudly in my head as he makes his way towards me. He grabs my by the wrist and yanks me up. He pushes me back towards the cage. We stop before the cage. I glare at him.

"You're a monster," I spit. Pan just rolls his eyes and shoves my heart back roughly into my chest.

"I may be a monster, but you're just a dumb bird," he growls out. With a flick of his wrist, the bars to the cage open and he pushes me in. I stumble backwards. I slowly heave myself up into a sitting position and glare at him some more. He cocks his head at me and grins. "And now look, you're a bird in a cage."


	18. The Fire

Even though I know winter is fast approaching, the weather does not. Although the leaves quickly fall from the trees, the nights grow longer, and the skies are often overcast, the weather remains mild for quite a few weeks but every day, the chill in the air grows more and more. I suppose it will start snowing soon. It reminds me of the London winters, grey, with chilly rain. I enjoy it and we all take advantage of it and spend most of our time outside tending to the garden and the outside of the house. John tries his hand at chopping logs but gives up after an hour of struggling with the axe, muttering under his breath that this was always Neal's job.

Neal, however, has completely left his job behind. We haven't heard a single word from him in almost a month. The fear that I'll never speak to him again gnaws in the pit of my stomach and grows bigger and bigger every day. I miss him in the mornings when all I can smell is coffee and when I wake up, crying from my night terrors. They've gotten significantly better, though, with John's and Michael's help but they still don't understand the fear that grips me. Neal was the only one and now he's gone.

I shake myself from thoughts of Neal and begin again to pull at the weeds at my feet. The cold is creeping up, but so are the weeds. I tug at them. The ground is dry and rocky this part of the garden. I've considered many times paving over it and putting a bench of some sort there, but I don't have the heart to discount this part of the garden. Plants could still grow here, weeds certainly can.

I stand up and rub the small of my back. I sit down at the table outside and look up to the roof where Michael is re-doing the chimney. I crane my neck and shout up at him, "How's it going, chimney sweep?"

Michael pops his head over the side of the roof and glares down at me. "At least I don't like to play in the mud, Wendy." He points at my dress. "You're going to have to scrub that dirt out yourself because John won't."

I wave away his jabs at my dress and rest a little while on the bench. John comes out from the kitchen where he's been making lunch. After his stint with chopping up the firewood, he discovered he was actually quite good at cooking. Today he brings out chicken soup and sandwiches. He sets it down on the table in front of me and I help him bring out the plates.

We both sit down and look up expectantly for Michael, knowing he's obviously seen us getting ready for lunch. When he doesn't pop his head over the side of the roof, John calls, "Michael, come down for lunch!"

Michael doesn't answer and John calls again, worry in his voice. "Michael!"

Michael quickly pops his head over the ledge of the roof. There's fear in his eyes. "I see smoke," he says quietly.

"Yes," John says. "I just lit the fire for lunch, now come down he-"

"No, no, no. At Gold's castle," he points frantically to the south. "It's tall and black and rising." We both stand up and crane our necks to try and see over the tree line. I stand up on a chair and eventually see a wisp of black smoke coiling up towards the grey sky. My heart drops and my hands begin to shake.

No words pass between us. We all scramble towards the trail that runs south towards the castle. We burst into a sprint and don't stop. My breath comes in ragged short bursts. My legs keep getting tangled in my skirt, but I keep running and tripping. The world blurs around me and all I can think of is Neal. It doesn't matter that the last words we said to each other were out of anger and fear. All that matters is that he's my family and that he needs to be safe. He can be anywhere, doing anything, he just needs to be safe.

We round a familiar bend and suddenly, I'm in front of the castle that I spent weeks in, digging and searching for any clue to save the Dark One. It once stood ominous and terrifying, looming at the edge of the forest that gives way to a cliff that falls down into a grey valley. Now, black, choking smoke billows out from all the windows and gold fire crackles all around. The few horses that were still in the manor have somehow been let loose and frantically race around.

I stand frozen in place, my heart beating so wildly I'm sure that John and Michael can hear it over the crackling flames. The house groans and threatens to topple over. The eastern wing suddenly crumbles and dust and ashes plumes outwards in a ball of burned wood and furniture. That was where the servant's quarters were. It's unlikely that there was a single servant there, since the house has been abandoned except for Belle and Neal for years.

"What do we do?" John calls frantically.

Michael's mouth hangs open. We are all powerless in the face of the fire. I shake my head. There's always been a solution, even a stupid one. Except for this. I can't see anyway around it. This is so out of my control. I've gone up against Peter Pan, but a fire this large is something else. I look at John and shake my head.

"He's got to be in there," I say turning towards Michael, taking my gazes off of a frantic John.

"You don't know that, Wendy. This is too dangerous. You know it," Michael tries to explain.

"Then what the hell are we supposed to do?" I burst. "Let him burn to death! We've gone through three universes and one hundred and fifty years, and think that _this_ is too dangerous?"

"I'm not saying that, Wendy, I'm just saying that we need to go about this in a logical manner," Michael says, reaching out to me. I snatch my hand away from his.

"There is no logical manner in this family!" I yell.

"We can't just very well go charging in there, can't we?" Michael shouts. "For once, Wendy, think!" he grinds out. "Back me up on this one, John," Michael calls out, turning to our brother. Michael's eyes widen and I follow his gaze to the now-empty spot that John was. My jaw drops. "Holy hell! He's just as insane as you are!"

I can't believe John of all people has run into the burning castle. He's the most sensical of all of us. "John!" I cry out. I run over to the entrance of the castle and call his name. "John!" Michael follows me, but doesn't dare go any further. We're caught up in the terror of the moment. It's one thing for John to have gone in there, but another for us to follow. We don't even know which way he's gone.

We just stand there helpless as both of our brothers remain in the burning castle. At some point I realize that I'm crying, but I don't know whether it's from the smoke or for fear of both John and Neal. My hands shake. I've always been the one who can save my brothers and now I'm helpless, powerless-

"Wendy!"

The familiar voice cuts through my terror and I spin around the see Neal standing before us, covered in soot and dirty, like the first time I ever saw him, but altogether quite safe. I run to him and cling to him, trying to explain what's happened to John and how much I love him and how sorry I am all at once.

"Calm down, Wendy," Neal says, grasping my shoulders. In the back of my mind, I should wonder how he's gotten out of the house unscathed or even why it's burning down to begin with. I look frantically around and see Belle, just as covered in soot and disheveled as Neal, carrying a candelabra. None of this makes any sense, but I ignore it. I try and explain to Neal again and again, but my words aren't coming out properly. Finally, Michael intervenes and explains what's happened and without so much as a word, Neal also runs into the house in a mad attempt to find his brother who's looking for him. I don't even have enough time to tell him it's a bad idea.

Michael holds my hand tightly as we wait for our brothers to return. Belle comes up to us and explains the whole situation. "We were trying out one of the last spells that we though would bring back Gold. It quite literally went up in smoke. The whole place is made of wood and caught fire quickly. It was hardly ten minutes before the whole place was on fire. We barely managed to get out with the last books." This makes sense, but the candelabra still doesn't. Michael asks the question on my mind. "Oh, well, it's a talking candelabra." Honestly, what else did I expect? "Lumiere, yes, he's very knowledgeable."

I grow disinterested in the conversation and begin pacing. The minutes drag by in agony and my heart continues to beat loudly in my ears. I feel as if I may throw up from the fear. It feels like hours later when Neal bursts out of the castle with John slung around his shoulder. My hear almost jumps for joy when I see them, but plummets back down when I see the crimson stain on John's shirt. He's covered in ashes and burns and I'm not quite sure when a burn begins and the soot begins. I run to him and help him up.

"The house is collapsing, we need to get out of here," Neal calls over the din of splintering wood and crackling fire. "Belle, go get the doctor!" And Belle is off before I even register what Neal has said. Then Michael, Neal and I all carry John and sprint through the woods towards our own home.

It all passes by in a blur, reaching the house, carrying John up to his room, getting bandages and water, the doctor arriving, the doctor in John's room for what seems like hours. I pace back and forth for hours, my heart in my hand.

Neal calls Michael and me downstairs to where he and Belle have been gathering water and getting bandages, cleaning the blood soaked sheets. I feel useless. I've been too worried to do anything. I'm always the one to fix the problem. I wander downstairs where Neal guides me into the kitchen and sits me down. He tries to make me eat, but I refuse. Michael sits silently across from us. Belle, sensing the tension, excuses herself. Now, that I've calmed down enough to think I can't help but see how Neal's crazed attempt to resurrect his father have almost gotten John killed. I turn away from him, not wanting to be mad, but seeing the truth in the situation, in what torn us apart. I don't want to be right.

We sit in silence for a few moments before Neal breaks it. "I know this is my fault," he says softly. I can't even bear to look at him. His words echo in my mind, but mostly his actions strike through my heart. I know his father is important to him, I, too, had a father. But if bring ingFather back were to jeopardize my brothers' lives, I wouldn't think twice about it. "I know John's been hurt because of me."

I shake my head.

"Wendy, will you even look at me?" Neal sighs. "I'm sorry for all I've done. I feel so guilty. I let this crazy notion get in the way of being happy with my family, the one that I have right here."

"I thought we were too broken to be a family," I bite out. I cast a glance over at Michael, who has sat stone faced the whole time. He nods at me.

"We're not too broken to be a family," Neal pleads. "Please, Wendy, Michael. Thought we'd always be a family."

"We will always be a family, Baelfire. But that doesn't mean we can't be mad at you. We will always love you, but you've got to let us be angry. Your actions almost got John killed," Michael explains. "Loving you is easy, forgiving you isn't."

"I know, I know," Neal says, defeated. "I got too carried away. I couldn't see what was most important. I was wrong. I don't expect you to forgive me. Just hear my apology." He pauses and takes a deep breath. "You took me in when I had no one and adventured off to far away dangerous lands just for me. To have found you and kept you is a miracle and it was unforgivable for me to say that you did anything besides being the best brothers and sister in the world. I don't deserve this love. I don't deserve you. This break in our family is all my fault. I'm sorry that it ever happened and I'm going to stop the search for my father for right now. Not forever, but for right now. Mending my relationship with you is the most important thing.

"I've lived three hundred years and besides Emma and Henry, you guys have been my heart and soul. You're what keeps me going, what keeps me fighting. To have left was one of the biggest mistakes of my life. I'm so so sorry. I hope that you'll find it in your hearts to even consider forgiving me," Neal says quietly.

I turn around. "Of course we'll forgive you, Neal. It's just going to take some time. It's just the things you said and did were so hurtful." I shake my head and wipe at tears in my eyes. Neal wipes his own away too. I even hear Michael sniffle. Neal reaches for my hand and then for Michael's. He squeezes and holds on tightly. I feel a part of my broken heart being mended.

"I love you both," Neal says softly. "I love you, Wendy and I love you, Michael. I love John, too. I'll never hurt you like this ever again."

Michael nods. "I love you, too, brother."

Just then the doctor bursts into the kitchen. His calm demeanor that he greeted me with several hours ago and for a split second, I'm afraid he's about to tell me something awful, but then I see the smile on his face and before I know it I've flung myself onto him and hug him tightly as he explains to Michael and Neal over my shoulder that John is going to be alright but is going to need a lot of help.

I rush quickly upstairs to see John in his bed, awake for this first time in what seems like forever. He barely weakly greets me before I'm by his side crying and telling him I love him. Michael and Neal join us and we all embrace, carefully as not to hurt John, but tightly and with love.

The next few days pass on uneventfully. We tend to John and make sure his wounds heal properly. Neal breaks the news to Belle that he's giving up on the quest to get Gold back for a while. We all begin to forgive and forget. Our lives become filled again with family. It's far from perfect. We're all still broken and hurt but this time we're open about it.

Neal begins to explain how much he misses his father and son and Emma. He tells about the times when his father broke his heart but also when he loved him. He explains the consuming need he felt to go after him and find him. He saw him as the be-all end-all to getting Emma and Henry back.

Michael and John begin to explain what it was like working for Pan all those years. How they went all over the world chasing leads about finding the Heart of the Truest Believer, what it was like when Mother and Father died, how much they missed us both and how they thought they would never see Neal or me again.

I slowly begin to open up about my time on Neverland and explain how Pan tricked me into giving him my heart, how he said that I was the Truest Believer but for some reason gave it all up. I explain my nightmares and how Pan's always there, dragging me back to my cage, to that chokingly hot jungle.

We all let out our pain and sorrow and begin to bond over it. We find the broken pieces of ourselves and build each other up and begin to form ourselves into a happy family again. It takes months and many set backs of Michael and John arguing about who's fault it was the Pan got control in the end, or Neal aching for his son, or me waking up screaming in the middle of the night. It will take years to be alright. It may never happen, but it doesn't really matter since we're all together.


	19. The Darling Bond

Finally, winter comes and snow falls in heavy blankets around our manor. Neal brings over what can be salvaged from the castle and Belle bids us all goodbye and goes off searching for the last spell that can bring Gold back. She won't be back for months, Neal assures us and even then she may not find it. This gives him time to spend with us and we spend it well.

Our conversations are much more open now about how we all feel. Michael and John begin telling us about Mother and Father in their old age, saying that they missed both Neal and I dearly, but grew old, stayed healthy and were relatively happy. Father died first, in his early eighties, of a heart attack. The doctors said it was quick and painless. Mother, being much younger than Father, lived on for another decade, but then had a stroke. Michael and John say she lingered for a while, but there wasn't much pain.

I don't cry about it. I feel terribly and miss them, too, but I just can't make the connection between the stories John and Michael tell and the vibrant, living parents I left all those years ago. Perhaps it's unhealthy, but at least my heart isn't broken. In some part of my mind, my parents are still very much alive.

Neal tells us about the time he spent on his own after he came back from Neverland and about meeting Emma and falling in love. It's bittersweet, but hopeful. Neal believes he will get to see her and Henry again one day and I hope with all my heart that he does. He's a wonderful father and deserves a chance to get to be one.

John slowly mends and is soon able to sit up in bed and even feed himself some soup. However, he grows very, very bored and finds the bedridden life very dull. So to accommodate this, move him to the large master bedroom and set up a family room there so we can all spend time together. When Christmas rolls around, we even bring in the Christmas tree and put it up in there, next to the fireplace.

We sew stockings and make each other presents. We sing bits and pieces of carols that we can remember. We try and tell each other the classic Christmas tales, but it's been so long since any of us have read them all the characters melt into each other and the Nutcracker Prince becomes Ebenezer Scrooge. We all laugh around the fire at our mistakes and enjoy the holidays and the New Year.

The nightmares get become less frequent but are still less terrifying. One night, I wake up screaming and Neal rushes into my room with a candle. He shakes me awake calling my name. I jolt awake suddenly, my heart pounding. He asks me to explain the dream, like he always does.

"I dreamed he was back," I sob. "That when you brought your father back, he came back too. It was terrible and awful. He was everywhere and in everything." My hands shake. It was one of the worst nightmares I've had in a long time. It was unlike the other's too. They're all made up of fracture memories, broken bits of the past. But this was the future which made it all the more terrifying. Pan couldn't have a hold on that. I was finally free of him, but I just can't shake him yet.

Neal holds me tightly and whispers to me how that could never, ever happen. He promises my future is safe from Pan. I sink into his arms and believe him.

Soon, the snow begins to thaw a little bit and John discovers that it's the perfect consistency for snowballs. One day, when it's particularly mild out, John begs me to open the window. He says he missed the fresh air and the feeling of the wind on his face. I open it for him and leave him be, going downstairs to check on the soup that Neal's made for lunch. He and Michael have been off gallivanting with the horses Neal brought back from his father's most of the morning.

While I'm downstairs, stirring the soup, I hear a loud screech from upstairs and a clatter and thump. I race up the stairs, fearing John's fallen out of bed or something, but when I dash through the door, I find John covered in snow.

I make the connection between the open window and the worried voices coming from the yard. I look down and see Michael and Neal giggling like two little girls with snowballs in their hands.

"You meanies, you hit John!"

"We didn't realize the window was open," Michael explains between fits. John and I burst into laughter at this and decide there is no possible way we could be mad about it.

The days of laughter and bonding turn into weeks which eventually turn into months. We get into a routine of waking up and just enjoying each other's company. Neal teaches me how to ride one of the horses, Ash, who happens to have been the horse that Prince Phillip donated to us many months ago. I start of with a slow pace and before I know it I'm galloping everywhere. Ash is a kind, smart creature who I can't help but love.

Michael begins to look for work in town and finds that they are actually looking for a new sheriff. He begins to spend his time there and make money for the family. I consider getting a job too, but Neal urges me to try and finish my studies, which I was fairly close to finishing before I went off to Neverland. He says come summer, he'll find me a tutor and finish up. Then I can start working. The concept is wonderful to me. I'm beginning my future. I can have a job and one day a husband and a family. I can grow up. My heart flutters at the notion.

The snow soon melts away and spring bursts onto our property and begins to creep into summer. I tend to the garden daily and the boys fix up everything around the house, with John staring out the window, shouting out orders that are hardly ever heeded.

One day, while Neal and I are weeding and Michael is back for lunch from his job in town, we all look up to hear the clop of horse hooves on the trail leading from Rumple's castle. We all look up to see, Belle, astonished. She has a large smile on her face and a bag that looks to be full of books and spells. She still has that candelabra strapped to her back. She and Neal embrace and go into the house to talk quietly.

A few hours later, Neal comes back out and announces that he'll be leaving us in a week to go find his father. My heart drops at this but this had been the plan all along. He assures us it will only be for a few weeks and he'll contact us within a few days.

The week passes by too quickly and before I know it, Neal has his pack and horse ready to go with Belle calling him from outside. He stands at the doorway to John's room and looks at us sadly. "I'll be back soon, I promise, you'll hardly even miss me," he says with a smile. He hesitantly goes to John and hugs him and whispers loving words in his ear. He does the same to Michael who grasps him tightly and both look as if they're holding back tears.

Then he finally comes to me. He doesn't say anything before he's picked up into a tight hug. "I love you so much, sister," he cries into my ear. I hug him back tightly, tears streaming down my cheeks.

"I love you, too, brother," I say. "Come back to us. It's a good life here."

"It is," he says. "I'll miss you. I'll miss talking to you, and our late night conversations. I'll miss your hugs."

"I'll miss yours, too," I whisper. "I'll miss your jokes and laugh and smile. I'll miss everything."

"It will be over before you know it," he says confidently. I nod and he finally sets me down. Michael and I follow him down the stairs and wave to him goodbye as he sets out down the long road south to his father. I stay at the gate until I can no longer see him disappearing into the horizon.


	20. Pan's Return

Days pass since Neal's final part of his quest to go find his father. John begins to regain his strength and is able to walk around the room now. He's still weak and his cheeks are hallow and his skin is waxy, but every day I see more and more glimpses of a healthy John and my worry for him dissipates a little less. But as my worry for John lessens, my worry for Baelfire only grows. It's been almost a week since he left and I can feel a lump of worry for every hour that goes by without his return. I know Neal is much older than me and is capable of many things, but toying with magic that can resurrect the dead is not one of them. Part of me regrets not going with him but I know without me here, I may have lost John. I have to trust that my saving one brother did not cost me the other.

The days grow easier and simpler, John regains his strength but I still command him to stay in bed until he is fully himself again. Michael helps too and both us take turns caring for John. Now that John isn't so close to dying we spend a lot of time sitting around in his room, reading, telling stories but as of late, it's been mainly worrying.

"It's been a week and we haven't heard from him at all. I think something's gone wrong," I say breaking the silence of the room. John jolts himself from dozing in his bed and Michael looks up quickly, concerned.

"He said he'd take a while, Wendy," Michael reassures, but I won't have any of it.

"Yes, to return, but not to send word that he's okay. It's been more than a few days now. A week is much too long, Michael," I tell him. He closes his book tightly and begins to pace in front of my chair in front of the fire. The room is dark, but outside the sky is black and cold. It makes me worry about whether Neal is out there in the cold, shivering and alone. I hold back a shudder.

"Wendy's right, something is definitely wrong. If he had gotten the Dark One back, don't you think he would have sent some sign?" John says, his voice cracks and sounds like its going to crumble, but he sounds a lot better than just a few days ago.

Michael humphs back into his chair, exasperated. "Well, then what do you suggest we do?"

"One of us has to go out and look for him," John says matter-of-factly.

"Well, you certainly can't, so am I to go?" Michael says, flabbergasted at the idea. I know he loves Bae and means well, but really, he is such a scaredy cat compared to his younger self who was ready to go traipsing into some unknown forest with the Lost Boys.

I roll my eyes. "No, I will," I tell both of them before they both start bickering. Michael immediate says no. "Well, why not? John is too sick to go, and Michael you obviously don't want to go and I have the second star to the right. Finding him will be easy as pie," I explain.

"But-but John is still sick," Michael stutters in the face of my logic. His cheeks grow red and I'm not sure if it's because he's getting flustered or scared. I turn back to John, who looks calm as ever. It's been an accepted truth that this would have to happen eventually. While I was nursing him back to health, we both agreed what would happen if Neal were to get lost or worse. John and I have always been the ones who made the plans, Michael and Neal just went head first into everything.

"That's why you'll stay back and help me. You know what to do, and I'm getting much better now, it won't be too hard," John explains.

"But I could take the star and go," Michael refuses to accept my going out and bringing back Neal.

"You can't, only I can," I explain. Michael crosses his arms and I fear he's going to hold his breath until he gets his way like he did as a tiny child. "Oh, come now, Michael, you know this plan is the best one we have." He only glares at me harder. His eyes flick to John to see if he might back him up, but John is in agreement with me. No matter what Michael says or does, I'm going out to find Neal.

"We almost lost you once trying to bring back Neal. I don't want to lose either of you," Michael says, softening.

"We'll lose Neal if we don't, Michael," John says. "Wendy has to go." Michael looks hopeless in the face of our logic and finally throws his hands up in defeat.

"Fine! Go after Neal, but if anything bad happens, I get to say I told you so," he warns childishly. I roll my eyes. He always has to get his way.

With Michael's blessing, I set out in the morning equipped with enough food to last me a week, an extra change of clothes, a water canteen, and of course, the second star to the right. The clouds are grey and hang heavily above my head as I swing myself up over Ash, and I'm thankful for it, I can see the star better this way. The air is damp and so are Michael's eyes as he waves goodbye to me from the door of our manor, our home. I see John in the window, waving goodbye to me weakly. I both blow them a kiss and turn to face the open road.

I fish the star out of its velvet bag. The star is warm to the touch, but also prickles with its sparks as I grasp it tightly in my hand. I release it into the air and it glimmers and winks as it whirls around in the air, before finding its path, and I set out, just like a hundred years ago, following the second star to the right, leaving my two brothers and home behind to find Bae.

It's half a day into my journey when the star just flickers out. I nearly scream when I realize what it means. Baelfire is what my heart most desires, but if the star is no longer flickering and leading me towards him, it means that there is no more Baelfire. The star falls back into my hand and I begin to sob atop Ash. I don't even realize I've dismounted Ash, until I feel the skirt of my dress being soaked through with mud as I kneel in the dirt, weeping for my brother. Rain starts to spit down and its constant hush dims the sound of my sobbing. I can't believe I'm too late. I sob as Ash wanders next to me, still carrying all the supplies I had set out with when I had hope for this trip.

I weep bitterly by the side of the road. Soon, the sobs stop wracking through me and I'm able to just sit quietly, trying to wrap my mind around the fact that Neal is gone. I feel like kicking myself for not going after him sooner, or not having gone with him in the first place. But if I had gone with him, John may not be alive.

Suddenly, I feel the inside of my palm prickle, just as it did when I took the star out of the bag. I unfurl my hand and the star shoots out of it quickly. I have no idea what this means but I have to hold onto the hope that Neal could still possibly be alive. I wipe my tears and get back on Ash, determined to find my brother and get to the bottom of this. We gallop after the star. I need to get to Neal as soon as possible to help him with whatever is going on.

The flickering of the star happens every few hours. It seems almost as if it's fighting itself to stay bright and glimmering. In those hours, I try to rest but waiting for the star is to regain its brightness is agonizing. Sometimes it's only minutes, but other times, it's hours and hours and I feel as if the worry and anxiety will eat me alive. I'm much to scared to sleep or eat and instead stay up and worry for Neal.

This stop and go continues on for five days. I don't stop at any of the inns. John warned me about how dangerous it is for a woman to be travelling alone. It makes me angry to know that my gender holds me back from being safe, but I know that with how the star is acting, staying in an inn, really wouldn't be practical. I sleep in a makeshift tent, as it isn't quite warm enough yet to just sleep outside, but my sleep is light and filled with worries. I can't seem to concentrate when the star is out. I feel as if the world is spinning and I may pass out and it can only be stopped by the silvery light of the second star to the right.

The star leads me deeper and deeper into the woods. The trees are thick and the smell of moss permeates the air. The path we take is narrow and is barely discernible from the normal ground of the forest. I'm worried Ash might slip and topple over, but I need to get to Baelfire as soon as possible or I fear my heart won't be able to stand the anxiety much longer. I still urge Ash on even when the sleet starts to fall on us, winter still clawing its way back even as spring approaches. The sleet beats into me and soaks and chills me to the bone, but I can't give up on Neal now, not when the star has been the brightest its been in days.

The skies continue to darken into an ashen grey, but the star casts silver light all around the grey wood. Ash becomes skittish, almost sensing the impending danger of the weather and terrain, but he charges on, also sensing the urgency. Even as the hours pass on and the day grows dark and the sky turns black and the sleet comes down harder, we still journey on. Soon, I can see the tree start to disperse and grow thinner and sparser and I can tell there is going to be a clearing up ahead.

The star begins to flicker and my heart falls. It's been so bright lately that I was hoping it would finally stop this terrifying. Ash picks up, sensing that there may be a stop soon. After a few minutes we finally burst out into a dark clearing that is still dusted with snow. The star burns out and returns to my hand, but before it does, I see a figure lying in the snow. My heart thumps in my chest. Perhaps this is why the star just went out, perhaps this is Baelfire.

I jump off of Ash and sprint over to the figure. "Baelfire!" I cry out into the darkness. I skid down into the snow, my dress damp and cold from the sleet and now made even worse by kneeling on the cold ground. I shake the lump furiously, all while shouting Bae's name. I turn him over, ready to smother him with all the love I can muster and let out all my worry and bring him home finally and-

I scream as I see who it actually is. I push the away the grinning man and clammer back on the ground as he gives a hearty laugh. I feel like throwing up. I never imagined I'd ever see him again.

"Wendy-bird, so good to see you've found me," Peter says lightly. He continues to grin at me as I feel the world begin to spin. My breath catches in my throat as I begin to try and make sense of why Peter is here and why Baelfire isn't. Why did the star flicker out? Why is Peter here? Where is Bae? "What's wrong, darling?" Peter teases. "Was I not who you were looking for?" Suddenly, it all seems to make sense. Peter's done something to Bae and he's hiding him here. Perhaps, when Bae brought back the Dark One, Pan also came back. I lunge for him, a momentary lapse in my fear and evidently, my better judgement.

Peter's not expecting me to throw my whole weight against him and he topples over when I begin to pummel my fists into his chest. "Where is he?" I cry. "What did you do to him? Give me my brother back, you bastard!" Peter quickly regains his composure and grabs my wrists and quickly flips me onto my back. His eyes are icy and his hands are even colder, so cold in fact that I fear he'll give me frostbite.

"Stop your fits, you stupid girl. I don't know where your brother is for once," he sneers into my ear. He's so close I can smell the lingering scent of Neverland on him, the moisture of the forests and the salt of the ocean. I kick up with all my might but it hardly phases him. He only tightens his grip on my hards and I cry out. "Don't lash out. You forget how powerful I am."

"Give me back my brother!" I screech.

"I don't have him!" Peter roars, shaking my hands. "I told you, I don't know where he is! But if you stop your stupid fits for one minute, we might be able to work out a deal. Now, stop screaming and I will release you." I've heard that line one too many times and instead of continuing to scream, I lift my head and whack it against Peter's face. He's taken by complete surprise at my new response to his commands and lets go of my hands long enough for me to scramble away from his clutch. I only get so far before he's caught onto my wrist again and hauls me back so that he's gripping my wrist in one hand and has his other arm wrapped around my waist. Being this close to him makes me feel like throwing up.

This close to him I can see that his lip has split open and blood is dribbling down from his bottom lip. It makes me think of how he brushed his lips against mine just before he supposedly died. He somehow looks older, as if being killed made him age. His jaw is stronger than the last time I saw him, his shoulders wider and he seems taller, his hair slightly darker and I can see that he now has stubble. His eyes however are still just as terrifying as they are playful.

I try to wrestle myself out of his grasp, but he's much too strong and I eventually give up. "Finally, you've calmed down," he says, relieved. I glare at him. "Now, try and get this through your thick head. I. Do. Not. Know. Where. Your. Brother. Is. Understand?" I nod reluctantly. "If you let me explain, we can work out a deal, so you can get your meddlesome brother back and I can go back to getting what I want." After a century stuck with him on that damned island, I know that whatever Pan wants he gets, but it also probably means he's going to get something he shouldn't and that will ultimately end up hurting people, like the last time he wanted to get his new Neverland and tried to turn all of Storybrooke, including my family, into slaves. But my need to keep my family together and get to Neal wins out. I nod again. Pan smiles. "Okay then. If I release you, will you run?" I shake my head, while glaring at him. He releases my hands and I falter back a few steps, not being able to stand so close to my tormentor. "Good now, Wendy, it's time I tell the story." He chuckles at the irony. I want to throw up. "Once upon a time, your stupid brother-"

"He is _not_ stupid!"

Peter throws up his hands in exasperation. "My God, Wendy! Have you gotten more stubborn since I last saw you?"

"I got to be free since I last saw you, you bastard!" I cry, stomping my feet like a little child. "I got to grow up!" Peter rolls his eyes, obviously bored with my evident rage. All I want to do is throw him off a cliff and his blatant boredom of my pent-up rage over the last hundred years and fear for my brother makes me want to scream and pull my hair. His boredom with my rage makes me feel insignificant and I want to scream. How can he deny me this? Why can't he just seem vaguely affected by how I feel?

"Please stop this, Wendy. It is so tiresome," Peter drawls, looking terribly bored and tired with my outburst.

"I hate you! Why are you bored with this? I hate you so much and you don't even seem to care!"

"It's because I _don't_ care about you, Wendy," Peter says, as he begins to pace around me. "My fascination with you ended long ago and I just don't care anymore and this outburst is just so boring and time consuming. The only reason I haven't snapped your neck is that you have something that I want."

"I don't care what you want, I want my brother!" I cry. My mind is numb with cold and all that Peter is saying pricks my brain and is terribly painful. I can hardly concentrate now. All I know is that I need Neal back and that I hate Peter.

"Fine by me," Peter says. "Now if you want your brother, will you just listen to me long enough to get a deal done?" I nod, but I'm not entirely sure want Peter just said. My mind is beginning to grow hazy and there's this terribly loud noise that I can't find the source of but is terribly disrupting to my train of thought. It sounds almost like the chattering of teeth…"Now where was I? Yes, your brother and the Dark One's little wife went looking for a way to get the Dark One back. I don't know why. He's hardly world the dirt on my shoe. Now, they discovered a very ancient, very powerful, very dark spell to bring him back. It's magic that's even beyond me and that I wouldn't even toy with. They were very stupid to even try it, but being the fools they are, they did. And it brought the Dark One back, and happily, me. The Dark One's and my souls were linked together and became one upon our deaths. It was all a very tiresome business. But after your little Baelfire brought the Dark One back, the spell's price was another life in exchange for the other, so Baelfire would give up his life for his father. Then this green woman, who I think is called Zelena, maybe, came along and offered Rumple a deal that if he gave up his power, she could save Neal. So, of course, he chose Neal like the daft fool he is. So to save Neal, Zelena made them one, effectively kicking me out of Rumple's body. Belle ran off crying and I believe there was a French man involved, but I don't really care." All these words are a lot to take in and somewhere in the back of my mind, the reason why the star wasn't working makes sense, but not now. Peter comes in and out of focus and I put all of my concentration into staying upright. Peter's words just add to the din of the sound of chattering teeth. Peter stops prattling on long enough to take a dissatisfied look at me. "Why, Wendy, your skin is white and your lips are blue!" he comments with a childlike fascination. His words make no sense and I shake my head and try to form a sentence to tell him so, but I lose my concentration on standing up and begin to topple forward. Pan catches me, keeping me up right. He mumbles something about this being just another tiresome fit and I feel him scoop me up and walk back towards Ash, muttering about how this is all too much work.

I feel him swing me up onto Ash as he places me in front of him. He drapes his cape around me and his body heat begins to seep into me. The chatter of the teeth slowly peters out as I feel Ash beginning to gallop. The sound of chattering teeth is replaced by the constant thump of a heart, and I realize it's Peter's. I didn't know he even had a heart, I think to myself, my cheek against his chest, too cold to even worry about my closeness to him. Nothing really makes sense at this point.

"Stupid hypothermia," I think I hear Peter grumble. I twist my hands into his cloak and wrap it around me so that the sleet doesn't whip into my face as Peter gallops off. I'm not sure where we're going, but I'm starting to warm up and as long as I have this I'm fine.

The ride seems to take forever and even though I have some very limited warmth, the ride jostles me and makes my head hurt. I want to tell Peter to slow down, but I can't seem to form the words. My lips feel stiff and my brain seems frozen. I can't even remember why I'm out in the cold like this. Was I looking for something?

The pace slows and I think I hear voices and murmurs, golden light glows on the edge of my vision and I feel strong hands pull me down and carry me into a warm space that smells like wood and some spice, like cinnamon. Nothing makes sense. The world is blurry and yellow. I feel warm and wool on my face, a blur of green and the hum of Peter's voice.

"She… hypothermia…" The words all drift around me, none of them holding any real meaning. I can barely grasp them to hear the syllables, let alone understand what they're saying. "Help… wife… please…" I think I hear the jingle of keys and a warm, old woman's voice, it sounds reassuring.

The drone of Peter's voice is constant and as the world finally begins to fade out it continues on as I slip into sleep. "Help… Please.. My Wendy-bird…"


	21. The Heart of the Truest Believer

I can hear Henry's footsteps slowly descending down the stairs of my treehouse. I slump even further back into the pillows of my bed. I cover my face with my hands and groan. I can't believe I've just lied to Henry, to convince him of Pan's morality, to make him believe. I know exactly what believing gets you and it's so far from what I'm making him believe. I feel a knot in my stomach beginning to grow. How am I to remain in Neverland if I don't remain good?

I hear the floorboards creak and I don't even have to look to know it's Pan. I uncover my eyes and glare at him. He grins back. "Well done, couldn't have played the part better myself," he says appreciatively. He leans against the foot of my bed. "Very convincing, Wendy. Excellent job."

I sit up in bed and refuse to meet his gaze. "I don't like lying to him," I say vehemently.

"Oh, don't think of it as lying," Peter drawls out. "Think of it as providing motivation." I toss back the covers and slip out of bed. The floor is almost unbearably cold on my feet . I stroll over to the table in to corner with some bread and water. I rip off a piece of bread and chew it. It tastes like dust. "Don't you want to know what he needs motivation for, Wendy?"

I already know and it makes me want to know even less. I remain silent and stare down at the bread in my hand. A breeze from the window across the room whips through me and tosses my hair and nightdress around. It's uncharacteristically cold for Neverland. "I know all too well, Peter, what he needs motivation for," I grind out.

I hear Peter laugh and then the creak of the springs of my mattress. He's made himself at home here. He's here often enough for this tiny little treehouse to be his second home. I don't know why he comes so often. I don't want his company. I'm fairly certain he doesn't want mine. We often just sit in complete silence, which gets hard for him very quickly. He always needs to be talking, prattling on about some terrible deed he and the Lost Boys have done. When he's feeling particularly wicked, he mocks me. Taunts me about my family, all the stupid things I've done that led up to me being trapped here. More often than I'd like to admit, I take the bait. I retaliate. Screaming, yelling, cursing. Once or twice, I've even smacked him across the face. It was satisfying for all of five seconds before he had grabbed me by the wrists and snarled into my ear that I was going to regret it. And I did. Those were the times he'd leave me out in the forest all night long, being taunted and chased by the Lost Boys in some sick version of hide and seek. The vast majority of the time when I had upset him, he'd just lock me up in that awful cage up in the trees. The branches its made out of are spike and thorny. They leave my whole body covered in scratches and bruises. I rub my palms and look down at them. Sure enough, they're covered in scars from that cage.

I shake my head. Convincing Henry to believe in Pan has only further secured more scars from that cage and nights trapped in that godawful cage. I should have told him the truth. Told him every single terrible thing, finally told someone besides Peter what it's like to live on this hell of an island. God, it would have been so satisfying. To have someone care, or empathize with me, or just to be a decent human being. It would have been like breathing after almost being drowned, toss off the weight of the world from my shoulders. But what good would that have done? I would be punished and Henry would be trapped here forever, just like me.

"Come now, Wendy," Peter croons. "Say the words, I know you know them." I remain still and silent. I can't choke out those words. I hate them too much. They make me remember all those years ago, how I signed my death warrant. I can't believe how trusting and stupid I was back then. Willingly offering up my heart to Peter. I had trusted him with my heart. It makes me sick to even think it. I had believed him, cared for him, kissed him. I feel like washing my mouth out with soap just thinking about it, thinking about how safe I felt, how loved I felt, how good it tasted. I don't know why Pan needs me to convince Henry of giving up his heart, when all it took were a few strategically placed smiles and an acorn.

But I suppose Henry isn't a foolish girl looking for her brother on some mad quest. He's much smarter and quicker, but possibly just as kind as I'd like to believe I still am. That's where he'll fall down, he's too kind to let poor helpless Peter lose his island.

"Bird, talk to me," Peter commands. "This is a very dull conversation." His whims fall on deaf ears. I don't want to have this conversation, I won't. It's like running my mind and soul along the thorns of the cage.

I stand rigid, my hands gripping the back of the chair. I can't relieve those days, when the memories of my brothers, my mother and father, my home were so fresh. Why can't he just leave me alone? I hear Peter let out an exasperated huff behind me. "Fine, if you won't say it, I will," he says coolly. "The Heart of the Truest Believer. That's why I needed you to lie to Henry." I roll my eyes. At least he'll admit that he got me to lie. I've got to have the small victories at least. "Do you remember when you gave me your heart?" he taunts.

I grip the back of the chair so hard my knuckles turn white. My heart beats loud in my ears. "No," I grind out finally.

"No you don't remember? Or no you don't want to?" Peter taunts again. I take a deep breath and try to calm myself down. My heart feels like it's being dragged over thorns and spikes.

"Just leave me be, Peter," I say quietly. "Just get out."

"Oh, no," Peter says with a fake pout. "Is this conversation too painful for you?"

"No, it's not." Yes, it is.

"Then why do you want me to leave?" I hear the floorboards creak and I know that he's standing right behind me, looking down over my shoulder. His breath is hot on my neck and I feel his gaze in the back of my head.

"Because I hate you," I say simply. Hate isn't even the right word. It's so much more than that. It's far past loathing and anger and hatred. It's so much more. I can't seem to grasp the words.

Pan humphs behind me. "Well, that's not very nice." I let out an aggravated sigh. He never takes my bait, never reacts. I never get the rise out of him the way I want. I feel like shaking him or hitting him, just for him to get angry with me the way I do with him. It means that I have some power over him, some ability to make him see that he's a bastard.

"I don't care. Get out."

"You know, bird, it's very hard to have a conversation when you're not facing me."

"I don't want to look at you."

"No?"

"No, I don't."

"You can't tolerate the sight of me."

"No, I can't. Not when all of this is happening."

"All of what is happening?"

"This repeating of history, Henry being the… the-"

"Truest Believer, you can say the words. Remember how easy it was for you to hand it over?" He steps closer and I jolt away. I stomp towards the window across the room and lean against it, looking out into the dense forest.

"Go away, Peter. I already have to live with this, like this. You don't have to remind me," I let out quietly. I don't hear the floorboards creak and I'm relieved that Peter has stayed in his place.

"Complain all you want, Wendy, but you were the one who gave me your heart,"Peter grouches out.

I whip around and glare at him. "Yeah, I was and I wish you had kept it so I wouldn't have to live like this!" I burst out. Hot, angry tears prickle the back of my eyes and I wipe away at them, furious. Peter stands at the table, leaning against it, as if for support. He seems to have no words so I continue. "And I don't even know why you didn't use it. It was the perfect time. You wouldn't have to worry. It would have been so easy. Why did you drag out this hell?" I rake my fingers through my hair and bite back the lump in my throat. "Every day, I wake up and live out this torture with you and the Lost Boys, knowing I've failed my family, that I gave up a chance at a normal life, that they went to their graves thinking I abandoned them. And I don't even know why you did it. It makes no sense. What made you keep me prisoner here? I never did anything to you. I just wanted my brother back." By this time, tears are rolling down my face and Peter is still standing rigid at the table, silent as ever. I sink down to the floor and lean my head against the wall. I'm angry with myself that I've let this go so far, that I'm such a mess in front of Peter, giving him the rise he wants, but part of me is proud that I've finally said the words both of us have been thinking for centuries. I close my eyes and rub my temples. I hear the floorboards creak once more and when I open my eyes, Peter has knelt down in front of me with a curious look on his face.

"Well, that wasn't like one of your usual outbursts," he says absently. "It's very funny how you spiralled out of control so quickly. You usually just throw things."

I meet his gaze and glare. "Get out."

"I must say, it was actually a lot more entertaining," he prattles on. "The next time I see you, I should like-"

"Get out!" I cry. I coil my hand up and slap him hard across the mouth, harder than I've ever done before. My hand makes a satisfying crack against his cheek. We both stay still for a moment and try to grasp just how hard I've hit him. I begin to prepare myself for his retaliation but it never comes.

I watch him slowly stand up above me, rubbing his bruised cheek all the while. He brushes himself off and turns quickly on his heel. He moves quickly across the room to the stairs and jogs down them. I hear the door to the treehouse slam behind him and hear the crunch of his feet on the rocks outside.

I sit in the silence, with my hand tingling from the slap and more confusion and hurt hanging on my heart than ever.


	22. Alliance

I jolt awake to the feel of a cool, damp cloth on my forehead. I shake off the tangles of the dream-like memory I was just in. Fear strikes me as I realize don't understand what's happening. I furiously push away the hand that tries to wipe at my forehead. I try to sit up, but am caught by a wave of dizziness that sends me back down onto the pillows.

"Dearie, it's alright. You're safe." I recognize the voice of the warm, old woman I thought I heard before… Before when? My memory is still stiff. I blink my eyes and stare up at the kind face of a wrinkly old woman. She smiles down at me and I can't help but think of my old grandmother from many years ago, the smell of her perfume and the hard candies she kept in her purse for the boys and me. "Don't worry, dear. You're at an inn. Your husband brought you in with hypothermia. You were very sick."

"My husband?" What the hell is she talking about?

"Yes, the young man you're married to, the one with those lovely blue eyes. I believe his name is Paul… or Patrick?"

"Peter?" It's the first time I've uttered his name in this universe and it makes me want to vomit. The name brings back the memories of the night finding Peter, not finding Bae, the danger Bae is in, our fight, the cold. I nod slowly. Peter must have brought me to the inn after I collapsed and posed as my husband to avoid prying eyes. I'm sure he wants to keep a low cover and not alert everyone that Peter Pan is back nor that Wendy Darling is travelling with him. I recall that it is also looked-down upon for a woman to be travelling alone or without her husband or other significant male figures. He is purposely avoiding attention.

"Yes! That's his name!" she smiles and offers me a glass of water which I sip back slowly. The water is wonderful but it makes me feel the pounding of my head and how stiff everything feels. "He was very concerned for you when you two came in. So kind and caring." I nearly spit out my water. Peter? Kind and caring? Not in a million years! He was probably only concerned with what he wants from me, whatever that is.

"Don't look so taken aback, dearie. I know he cares for you, even if you two are so young. Men just can't show their emotions properly. He does care for you." Or he just wants what I have and doesn't care. I've made that mistake with him one too many times before. I smile and sit up again, this time very slowly.

"Who are you?"

She laughs and apologizes for not introducing herself sooner. "It must have been very confusing for you, dear! I'm Mrs. Goosen, but you can call me Mother Goose. My husband and I run the inn. I was just keeping an eye on you for when your husband returns." I nod slowly. These fairy tale characters are constantly coming out of the woodwork, I'd just like to meet someone who doesn't have their own story. Mother Goose is a goose, not a woman.

"Where, um, is my husband?"

"Oh, he's just getting some broth from you from the restaurant down the road, since we're all out. He's so caring, you know. He was in such a panic for you when you came in. He was very concerned. I can tell he cares for you greatly." It's becoming very obvious to me that Peter has charmed this old lady into making her tell tall tales about him. It's probably to stop attracting attention. Peter would never expend the energy to make me think he was anything but his usual, hostile, evil self. And besides, I don't believe Peter is even capable of caring. The only reason he saved me was to further his own wants.

I smile tightly and thank her. Just then, there is a knock on the door and Peter opens it up slowly, a look of fake caring and love on his face. There is a container in his hand and his cheeks are pink from the cold outside. "Darling?" The fake tenderness of his voice is so sweet it makes me want to hurl. He smiles wide as he sees me sitting. "Thank heavens! You're up at last. I was so worried." I feel a retort on my tongue but hold it back. I can verbally assault him when this confused lady is out of here.

I smile tightly. Mother Goose looks between us, pleased at our apparent show of love. She pats my hand and waddles out of the room, quite like a goose. She closes the door quietly behind her. I glare at Peter and his fake show of caring drops. "My husband? Really?" He laughs as he plops the container on my bedside, kicks off his muddy boots and flops on to bed next to me.

"I thought it was appropriate, it brought me back to our Neverland days," he chuckles up with maliciousness in his eyes. I feel like pouring the hot soup on him. When he sees my unimpressed look, "Come now, Wendy, we can't attract attention. I don't want people to know I'm back just yet and think of the heart attacks people would have if they found out a young man and woman were travelling together, unmarried."

"A young man? I thought you were just a boy."

Peter's jaw hardens. "Yes, well, death has aged me."

"Good." Silence falls as Peter's jaw hardens. I can tell this has made him mad and I'd be lying to say that this doesn't make me at least a tiny bit happy. We sit in the silence for a while. Back in Neverland, Peter could hardly stand any form of silence and always prattled along to fill the void. Maybe it was to hide from his thoughts, maybe he just likes the sound of his voice. Whatever the reason, Peter can now be silent for a little while, which is quite grown-up of him. I suppose death really has aged him.

I reach over and begin to sip the soup, slowly. The flavour and warmth lights a fire in my stomach and I realize just how hungry I am. Travelling all those days without sleep or food was extremely detrimental. I was so focused on Neal, I didn't realize the harm I was doing to myself. My recuperation is perhaps the only good thing to come out of Peter being back. Even if it was selfishness, he did save me. And because my mother raised me to be polite and courteous, even to wretches like Peter, I tell him, "Thank you for saving me, I wouldn't have made it without you. And thanks for the soup, too."

Peter scoffs. "Darling Wendy, always so polite," Peter teases and I immediately regret any show of kindness towards him and glare down at him from his place next to me. He smiles up tauntingly. "And don't thank me for the soup. It's coming out of your pocket. In fact, so is this room."

"What?"

"What do you mean 'what'? I just returned from the dead. I don't exactly have my wallet on me," Peter explains mildly. His eyes have fluttered closed and there's a smile ghosting across his mouth. He looks completely unconcerned.

"How did you even get it?" I rage on as I pat furiously in my dress's pockets for my money but I realize that I am not in the dress that I arrived in. I'm in a nightgown, something I have made an extreme effort to avoid wearing. "Who changed me?" Peter just winks. Furiously, I whip back the covers and begin to turn the room inside out for my money, all the while reprimanding Peter.

"You dump me in this inn, undress me and steal my money?" I rage on. I stomp around the room and slam open the draws of a cabinet. Nothing. I feel my face heat up and my words grow hoarse. I swing open the doors of the wardrobe. Nothing. My head feels very light. I glance around the room, trying to find all my things, but can't do so because black spots cloud my vision. I put my hand on my head and sway back and forth. "I… I…" I feel myself pitch forward, but in a second Peter is up off the bed and scooping me up. He carries me back to the bed and practically dumps me on it. I glare up at him. "Don't touch me!"

"Oh, Wendy-bird, anger never really suited you," he says sadly. He clucks his tongue. "What a shame." I cross my arms and glare at the lamp, too angry even for words. I can't believe he has managed to do all of this in a matter of hours. The time away from him made me forget truly how awful he is.

Peter flops back on the bed and puts his hands behind his head. He wiggles on the mattress. There is silence for a little while again. The only good thing about Peter now is that he's keeping his mouth shut. "So now that you're bedridden, we have time to discuss our deal." Never mind.

I remain silent. If I open my mouth, all I'm going to do is scream. I feel completely useless now that I can't even stand for a few moments. How the hell am I going to get Neal back? Everything is already such a mess, I might as well hear Peter out right now. Neal is trapped inside his father's body and there may be no chance in getting him back, so I might as well at least hear out the man who tormented me for a century.

"I'm going to take your silence as agreement," Peter goes on. He doesn't wait for my answer. "Here is my deal. I will help you find Baelfire, and you will give me the second star to the right." I look over at him, one eyebrow raised.

"No. I have the star, I can find Baelfire with it. I don't need you. Nor would I even dream of giving you anything that powerful. You'd surely hurt people with it, and I can't allow that," I tell him curtly. He chuckles. "What?"

"In the state he's in right now, you can't find Baelfire with that blasted star. Do you know why it keeps flickering on and off?" How does he even know that? Without me even asking the question, he grins and says, "I know much more than I let on, Wendy. That star is not working because for long stretches of time, there is no Baelfire. He gets absorbed into his father and it is only his father who remains, so then the star goes out. When Baelfire gets the upper hand, the star shines. But in its state, it won't lead you to Bae. The reason it brought you to that field was because that was the last place Baelfire really was." This makes perfect sense, actually. "If you keep using the star when you're trying to find Bae, it will just lead you in circles, birdie. You won't find your brother, or any spell to set him free. But I can find him, or rather the Dark One. I know my brother better than anyone and I dare say, I'm quite good at finding people." He winks at me. I glare at him. "I can find Baelfire for you, and along the way, a spell to separate father and son."

"And afterwards you want the star?" A nod. "Why didn't you just take it when I passed out and left me for dead? Nursing me back to health is not exactly something that you'd do."

Peter shrugs. "The Blue Fairy made the star that it could only be given to another person, never stolen. She was quite aware that people would want their hands on it. That made sure it never would fall into the wrong hands. So, you have to give it to me for me to get it." How does _he_ know that?

"But you _are_ the wrong hands! No matter what you do with that star after this, you will undoubtedly hurt someone in the process of getting what you want. I can't let you do that all over again," I say, my voice growing shrill, but even as I say these words I know the other option if I don't promise Pan the star.

"Well, then I suppose Neal remains trapped in his father's body, in agony for all eternity, and your perfect little family is ruined," he says flippantly. I glare at him, arms crossed. We lived on the same island for a century. I know nothing about him, but he knows everything about me and he knows that above all else, I will do _anything_ for my family. And this, just so happens to be one of the forms anything comes with. Maybe if I just don't give him the star at the end, I can- "And don't even think about pulling out of the deal at the last moment. I'll just have to kill you and your family." Fantastic. He grins. "Now do we have a deal or not, Wendy?" He sticks out his hand from across the bed and I take it, reluctantly. It's cold and smooth to the touch. It's very familiar. He grasps my hand firmly and shakes it. "Then we have ourselves a deal."


	23. Survival

It's early when I'm woken up by the door being creaked open and then slammed shut. I groan and roll over, ignoring it. But, an hour later, when the same thing happens and its followed by impatient footsteps and the rustling of paper, I finally force my eyes open to see Pan, hunched over the small desk in the corner with an excessive number of maps and lists.

I stretch out on the mattress and groan. It was late when I finally forced Peter to order a cot for him to sleep on last night. He insisted that to keep up the act of husband and wife as to not draw attention to ourselves we only needed one bed. So, I insisted that I would leave with the star and make sure it was destroyed. I would not let him sleep in the same bed as me in a million years. Just being in the same room as him makes my heart pound and my skin electric. It's an awful feeling.

"What are you doing up so early?" I complain. In Neverland, I knew Peter never to be up before noon. He always loved to stay up late and wake up even later, just like a naughty child. I savoured those few hours in the morning to be rid of him.

"Needed supplies," he says absently.

"How did you even get them? I thought you came back with nothing," I say, glaring at him. I would get up and glare at him, except I'm afraid that it will make me far too dizzy. Instead, I settle for staring at the back of his head.

"Well, I did. But, bird, you mustn't think that your brothers were the only contacts I had in other realms. I travelled quite often between them actually, to get new Lost Boys. I set up stashes of money and maps and necessities with those loyal to me," he explains without even looking up from the mess he's created all over the desk. For having gone out to get necessities, he seems to have forgotten new clothes and toiletries. He's still in the clothes that he had on when he came back from the dead in. They're wrinkled from sleeping in them and covered in mud from our tussle. Peter was never particularly put-together, but he was never dishevelled like this.

"My brothers were never loyal to you," I point out.

"No, but they were to you," he says without missing a beat. "A very annoying family trait." I roll my eyes. I like that particular family trait, it's what's kept us all alive. I turn over in bed and face the window. It's still so early that the sun has not risen and the whole sky is a promising royal blue. However, I can see the trees, black against the sky, being swept by a strong wind across the horizon. It must still be bitterly cold outside. The sky may be promising but it's just going to get colder. I've been travelling north all this time, and I hadn't realized that in this land, the father north you go, the colder it gets. Much like home, like Earth.

Neal had explained the lay of the land a little while ago. He mapped out how everything went. Where we lived was farm country. Warm in the summer, mild in the spring and fall, and snowy but tolerable in the winter. The earth was perfect for growing, and streams and rivers weaved through the whole area. Just south of us is the castle and kingdom of the Charmings' which bordered the salty ocean that lead off to far mysterious lands. North of us are the mountains. They were craggy, cold and unforgiving. He had explained that his father liked these areas for their remoteness and isolation, and so that was why the vast majority of his estates were there. He kept the castle in the farm county for Neal, in hopes that he would come back to a warm home. The northern mountains fell quickly away to another sea, colder and much more turbulent and tumultuous than the one that was in the south. I suspect we'll be heading there once I'm well enough to ride.

"Does that mean you have money now?" I ask absently. "Or a new set of clothes? You look terrible." For the first time today, Peter looks at me. He peers over his shoulder and narrows his gaze. His mouth is set in a firm line and I'm reminded again how much he's aged. His hair is so much darker, his jaw stronger, shoulders broader. He looks easily twenty years old now. I suppose age doesn't matter to him, seeing as he's four hundred years old to begin with. He motions to the cot that has a large black bag that I assume is full of clothes and money.

"I did some calculating last night. What you had would hardly last you two weeks. There's two of us now and we won't be back for a while," Peter says coolly. My heart drops.

"How long is a while?"

"A few months," he states.

"I can't be gone for a few months. Neal needs me, Michael and John are expecting me home soon," I stammer. I slowly push myself up in bed. "I can't be gone a few months," I continue frantically. "I can't be away from my family that long. And I most certainly don't want to be with you that long."

I can almost hear Pan roll his eyes. "Well, if you want to find Baelfire and a spell, it's going to take that long. So I suggest, you get some sort of letter to your brothers and stop complaining." He continues to rifle through his papers while I glare at the back of his head. I let out an angry huff. Even though he's infuriating, I suppose Peter does have a point. It will take a while for us to find Neal to begin and longer to find a spell, since we don't have the luck of the Charming's.

We sit in silence for a long time, both of us too annoyed by the other to say anything. I sit and stew, staring out the window and my mind begins to wander and I soon find myself with dozens of questions about how this is going to potentially work out. Where is Neal to begin with? How will we find him? How will we even begin to find a spell and perform it? Will he be able to survive for that long? What will John and Michael think of me working with Pan? How can I even trust Pan to begin with? All he's done for the entire time I've known him is trick and hurt me. There is not a single redeeming quality in him that I can see. He's given me no reason to think that he will actually take me where I want to go, let alone not kill me in the process. The more I think about it, the clearer it becomes that I wasn't thinking straight when I agreed to work with him. I begin to scheme ways to escape him while getting all the information I need from him. That turns into all the scenarios that end up with me dead, Neal in agony the rest of his life and Michael and John alone. I've locked myself into a doomed partnership with no way out.

This is just a repeat of when I first tried to save Bae except I know how bad Pan is and I'm _still_ letting him help me find my brother. I don't know why I keep letting Pan help me when he is so clearly evil and will just end up betraying me. But there are no other options for me. I can't find Neal without his help, and if I just break this partnership before it even starts I know I'll never find find Neal and my family will get hurt in the process. I rub my temples, trying to get the worry out. I just have to continue on this way, until I find Neal or find a way to ditch Pan without hurting anyone in the process.

With a final rustle of papers, Peter turns with a large map and comes to sit at the edge of the bed. He lays the map out between us. He points to a place on the map. "This is where we are right now," he explains. He runs his finger north to an area that is littered with lakes. "This is where we're going."

"And where exactly are we going? What is the plan even?" I demand.

Peter huffs. "Gold will go to one of his estates to lick his wounds and live out his days in agony. He's given up the knife that controls him. He just needs to stay far away from everyone. So, he's gone to one of his many estates. I've kept tabs on him over the centuries, I know where they all are."

"But you can't find the mansions without having been to the first one," I argue.

"It doesn't matter to those who are as powerful as him," Pan sneers. I feel like telling him that I very much doubt that he's more powerful than Gold, but the energy to argue with him about it isn't worth it. "Anyway, the plan is to check each of his properties for a way to get the two separated and to find the two in the first place. We're leaving in two days. It will require a lot of riding-"

"I can do it," I interrupt. Pan just stares at me, his eyes steely and his mouth set in a hard line. I just glare right back. He stands up abruptly and without warning, whips the door open and slams it shut. I glare at the door. "I can do it," I repeat. "I survived you, after all."


	24. The Maze

We leave two days later in the early morning fog. Peter bought another horse in the time I was healing. He load up the two horses with months of supplies and head out down the long winding path that goes north, towards the mountains, towards Neal.

We travel silently for long stretches, only broken by Peter barking out turns and twists to take. We have nothing to say to each other, nothing to argue about. We just sit in our thoughts about the other and about the journey that lies ahead. It hurts my mind to think about how much time I'm going to have to spend with him. I didn't realize how good it felt not to have him constantly hovering over my shoulder. His presence just prickles at my soul. He's made of thistles and brambles that scratch and tear at me. Being away from his was a balm, and I took it for granted.

I urge Ash forward, to keep the distance between Peter and me, but he keeps meandering back to the other horse, Samson. They whiney at each other and swish their tails. I'm glad that their are some creatures on this journey that can tolerate each other. Peter doesn't even glance at me the entire time, he just keeps his glare forward. I'm still getting used to this silent Peter. Back in Neverland, I taught myself to drown out Peter's incessant chatter and turn it into white noise. Having him silent now is eery. I catch myself staring at him every once in a while, matching up the things that haven't changed since Neverland and the things that have. He's still got that mischievous glint in his eye, the same cold smirk, the way he assumes he's always right. He's still a bastard. But he's quieter, larger, older. He's traded in his shaggy green shirt and pants for an all back look. A black shirt and sweater, black slacks and a black wool coat. It makes him much more ominous and intimidating than the boyish green. It's also rather disorienting since all I've ever known Peter to wear is green. Perhaps he thinks the same of me. I mean all he ever saw me in were tattered nightdresses. He's never seen me in real clothes before, never even seen me with shoes on or hair washed and brushed. It's a little dizzying seeing the new Peter and Wendy. I can't say much for Peter, but I like this Wendy much better.

He snaps at me once when he catches me staring and comparing the past with the present, and him with me. "What are you looking at, bird? Keep your eyes on the road."

I ignore his harsh tone. "The black's different," I comment coolly. Peter stares at me over his shoulder. I can see he's about to open his mouth to retort back something nasty, but thinks better of it, deciding not to waste the energy. He leaves the conversation hanging in the air.

We ride for several days, stopping only when it gets too dark to see. Peter says it's much too cold to camp and for once, I agree with him. My nose and fingers are constantly pink with the cold, and the wind blows so fiercely sometimes that it feels like spikes. I wish Gold had chosen all his estates in the south. Back home was considerably warmer and much more tolerable.

 _Home._

It makes me feel guilty. I still haven't written the letter that I really should to Michael and John. I try often at night when we're stopped. I sit on the bed with pen and paper, ready to write it, but I just can't find the words to explain that I share a room now with Peter, that when we get to a new inn, we always introduce ourselves as a married young couple, that I'm actually working with him. I just see the disapproval and horror on their faces, I can hear their disappointed words, "You know better, Wendy… After all these years, after all he's done?" I know it, I haven't forgotten it. But my love for Neal is far, far greater than my hatred for Pan. It's tiny and breakable in comparison to the fierce love and protection I feel for Neal. I know it's dangerous, I know it's a bad idea, I hate doing it, but I can't have come through three different realms, a curse and a century to let Pan still keep me from my brother. I try and put these feelings it words but they never turn out right.

 _Dear Michael and John,_

 _I'm working with my tormentor, and your blackmailer. It's going wonderfully._

 _Dear Michael and John,_

 _Today, Peter Pan and I posed as a young married couple. The innkeeper thinks we're just so sweet. She even asked me if I was expecting._

 _Dear Michael and John,_

 _Today, Pan accused me of stealing the last piece of bread at dinner, then I accused him of being an evil bastard._

The letters always end up in a crumpled ball on the floor. I can see the looks on their faces and hear their hearts breaking. I eventually decide that leaving Peter out of the whole mess would be best for everyone. I wouldn't have to admit that I've actually agreed to work with Pan and John and Michael won't have to know how far I'll go to save Neal. The night that I write the letter explaining how I'll be gone longer than expected and what the plan is, Peter quickly snatches it from me and looks it over quickly.

"Am I really so embarrassing, Wendy?" he pouts. He brushes an imaginary tear away. "I thought you liked travelling with me. This breaks my heart."

"Oh, like you even have one, Peter," I say angrily, snatching the letter back. He sets his jaw and clenches his hands into fists before stalking off to the other side of the room. I send the letter anyway.

A day after I send the letter, we arrive at the first drop all our stuff off at the inn before trekking through the marshlands that surround the estate. At first, I was upset that we weren't riding but as my boots keep getting caught in the mud and Peter's caked in mud up to his waist, I decide that horses weren't the best option. The lakes that surround the estate have bled into the surrounding terrain and made it marshy and wet.

By the time we reach the massive mansion that's covered in vines and fog from the swamp. It gives me a sick, clinging feeling. I almost tell Peter to go on without me. The estate in the south was never this ominous, it was rather inviting actually. Peter jaunts up the steps to the front entrance. The front doors dwarf him. He tugs on the door, and they don't give way. He curses under his breath. I watch him carefully as he takes a step back and bumps into me, shoving me backwards. I shove him back and he turns around, incredulous. "Try not to fuck this up, Wendy," he curses.

"Be careful where you step," I sneer. I step aside when he backs up again and charges at the door, kicking it open. The door pops open with a cough of dust. I wave it away and enter the ominous mansion. It's dark inside, damp. The air clings to me. Shadows turn over and over as Peter and I traipse through the long hallway, with landscapes of what I assume is the surrounding area. They all look smudged, as if the painter saw his world in a whirl of trees and lakes and bogs. They're gorgeous.

Our muddy boots stamp on the marble floors and echo out into the house. The entrance leads straight into a hallway that seems to drag on forever, with no doors or corridors. I begin to wonder if this house is just one long hallway. "Where does this lead?" I wonder out loud.

Peter shrugs. "Rumple's a big fan of confusing architecture."

"Where are we going?" I tell him. "That's what I meant."

"To a library of sorts."

"Aren't we looking for Baelfire?"

"Oh," he pauses. "I guess so."

I stop in my tracks. "What do you mean 'I guess so'? This is all about finding Neal! I don't want to go traipsing through these places if the purpose isn't to find Neal."

"You've got such a one-track mind, Wendy," Peter says, without even turning around or stopping. If anything, he quickens his pace. I jog after him and pull on the sleeve of his shirt. He stops finally and turns around. He tugs his shirt out of my hand.

"Look," he says, his words short and harsh. "We're still looking for Baelfire, but we need a solution first. We can't go searching for him if we don't know what we'll do with him."

"That's not the way I see things," I shoot back. "Neal is my number one priority. My focus is on him." Peter glares down at me. His jaw is set in that incredibly irritating hard line. He looks just about ready to burst. And he does.

"You don't know what you're even saying!" he bursts. "You don't know anything about this realm! Or any other realm, for that matter! You don't know anything about magic or finding the Dark One! You can't even travel on your own without getting hypothermia and almost dying! We're doing things my way, Wendy!"

"He's my brother!" I yell right back. "This way my quest until you burst in! It's my star! I don't care about the magic, I just want Neal! You have no claim to leading this!"My hands are clenched so hard into the palm of my hand I'm afraid I'll draw blood. My breath comes in ragged short bursts. Peter glowers down at me. Neither of us are going to compromise on this one.

Peter just shakes his head. "If I let you be in charge, we'd both end up dead. You don't know how to navigate through these mansions, you don't know how to handle magic," Peter lists off.

I hold up my hands, stopping him in his tracks. "Yes, but consider this," I interrupt. "I survived you, which means I can pretty much do anything." Peter throughs up his hands in exasperation.

"Why do you always bring that up? It's not even relevant to this argument!"

"It's relevant to _everything_! You may not realize but you ruined my life," I grind out. I poke him in the shoulder with every word. "Every single thing you have done has affected my life. If you had just let Neverland go, Gold wouldn't have even been dead in the first place. If you had just let me and my brother go all those years ago, I could have had a nice, normal life."

Peter shakes his head again and throws up his hands. "I'm not having this argument with you, Wendy. Don't spin this all around to make me out to be the bad guy-"

"You _are_ the bad guy!"

"Whatever. We can debate this some other time but we need to just get out of this fucking mansion. Let's just keep going," Peter huffs out before turning on his heel and making his way down the hall. He continues at a brisk pace and I have to hurry after him. I'm so angry at him I can't even find the words.

We keep at the brisk pace until we reach the first door that I've seen in forever. Peter rushes right past it, but as I peer into it, it looks just like a large library. The ceilings shoot upwards with rows and rows and stacks and stacks of books. The room is so large that it looks like a ballroom. Light pours in from a large bay window at the back and floods onto the comfy furniture and a large grand piano. I look back at Peter who just continues down the hallway, as if he hasn't seen it.

How can he have missed this?

"Uh, Peter, you missed something," I call out before stepping into the library. I step in and I hear Peter's footsteps faintly scrambling in the back of my mind. I've hardly taken two steps into the library before Peter's behind me, tugging on my arm and trying to drag me out. I hear the door slam and Peter curse. He lets go of my arm.

"Goddammit, Wendy! Do you realize what you just did?" He pounds his fist against the door and kicks it, but it remains shut. The door not opening may be a problem, but we found the library after all, didn't we?

"I don't understand why you're so upset," I say calmly. "This is a library of sorts, right?"

Peter rolls his eyes. "That's not the- fuck!" He slams his fist against the door and rattles the handle. "That's not the point! It was a specific library and now, we're off the fucking path." Peter leans his head against the door and continues to curse.

"You just said 'a library of sort'. You never told me you already had a plan, which, by the way, you should have told me about," I reprimand. "And what do you mean we're 'off the path'?" I can feel myself getting angrier and angrier with Peter as I talk. I hadn't thought about it before, but I came in here with no plan. I just assumed he would tell me eventually- or maybe I didn't even think about one. But Peter clearly had one the entire time and didn't even try to mention it to me. I don't know why I didn't see it coming.

"This mansion is a maze," Peter says through gritted teeth.

"' _Rumple's a big fan of confusing architecture_ '," I grind out. "And you weren't even going to tell me?" Peter straightens and turns around. He fixes his eyes on the shelves of books behind me. He quickly walks towards them, brushing past med without so much as a word. I follow him and yank on his hand, pulling him to face me. "You weren't going to tell me, were you?"

He grabs his hand back and glowers down at me. "No, I wasn't, okay? You didn't need to know and you wouldn't have been able to memorize the path in time." I run my hands through my hair. I turn away from him and begin pacing. I am so angry with him I can't even look at him. How did I not think about the plan or anything? I just went blindly into this mansion with no information expecting what? For there to be no issues, no issues? Peter just got away with it because I thought it would be easy. How was I so stupid? I'm so furious with myself and Peter. Me for not having thought this through and Peter for thinking I couldn't handle it. I'm furious with him for not thinking of the very obvious solution to our dilemma.

I whip around and point my finger at him. "Why didn't you tell me? I could have at least tried and I would have at least known to stay on the fucking path!" I explode. "Don't you dare say that I wouldn't be any help. I am more than capable, Peter Pan. More than you could ever comprehend."

"Sure you are," he says sarcastically. He's made his way over to the books. He runs long fingers across their spines before grabbing one and throwing it over his shoulder, carelessly. I let him toss books behind for a few more minutes before I reach into my satchel and pull out a tiny, velvet bag. I don't know why he didn't think of this. It's such an easy solution. He really does need my help.

"Peter," I say. He doesn't turn around. "Peter," I say more forcefully and this time he whips around. He's about to retort something back to me until he sees whats in my hand. His mouth makes and 'o' shape and he falls silent. "You don't think I need you need my help?" I shake the bag for emphasis.

He swallows. "Is that…?"

"Yes, it is," I tell him. "We could have avoided all this unpleasantness if you had just told me any details." Peter narrows his eyes, but stops throwing books. He walks over and waits expectantly for me to take it out. I reach into the bag and feel the familiar prickle of the star in my hand. I open it up and its light blazes up in front of us. We both stare at it, awestruck. I forgot how beautiful it was. The irony of the situation isn't lost on me, either. Both Peter and I, being led on by the remnants of the realm that we shared for a century, leading us to the person that lead to my imprisonment.

Peter quirks his eyebrow at me. Apparently, the irony isn't lost on him, either. "I suppose the universe has a sense of humour," he quips. I don't laugh. Peter straightens again. "The maze is constantly changing, the star will lead us in the right direction to the library but we have to keep up with the path it creates, or else we'll get left behind."

I take a deep breath and release the star. It bounds across the room and knocks into a seemingly normal wall. Peter and I race after it. He pressed on the wall and a door slides open to reveal a dim tunnel, only lit by the star. He steps in and I follow suit. The star zips on ahead and we race after it, taking several twists and turns. My heart races and my cheeks are flushed but we make good time and there doesn't seem to be any issues with the maze. But just as I think that the floor gives way underneath me and turns down into a steep slope. Peter and I both lose our footing and tumble down the narrow slide. I can feel the bumps and bruises beginning to form.

Before I even realize that we've hit the ground, Peter's pulling me up again and dragging me, tailing the star. It leads us around more sharp bends and twists. I begin to lose track of how many times we've turned or how long we've even been in the tunnels. The scenery never changes but the obstacles second one we hit isn't so much of an obstacle as it is a booby trap. I'm not entirely sure what caused it, but in seconds arrows come shooting out of the walls. I hear myself scream and flatten to the ground immediately. I register that Peter's beside me, crawling on his belly after the star. One arrow grazes his shoulder and he yelps.

The next trap we run into happens to be a living one. I'm not sure how it's been kept alive and properly fed seeing as the mansion is seemingly abandoned, but the large bear that stampedes out in front of us as the tunnel wall lifts to reveal a large pen is the largest one I've ever seen. He swipes at me and I dodge away before it can tear my dress. Peter calmly tries to use his magic, green and sparkling and familiar. It's the first time I've seen him use it in years. He always used scare tactics and mind games on me. With the Lost Boys, he was a skilled marksman, a wonderful sword fighter and amazing at hand-to-hand combat. He never needed it, but I suppose now he does. He materializes fire and it blazes up menacingly. He throws in the bears way but it bounces of harmlessly. Suddenly, the bear having survived all this time makes sense.

"It's charmed!" Peter yells over the din. He turns to me frantically and for the first time in my life, I can see clearing that Peter Pan has lost control of the situation. His eyes are full of panic and he hardly sees the ginormous paw flying at him before he's knocked backwards against the wall and slumps forward. My shriek dies in my throat. I have no weapons and no magic.

The bear stops flailing about and begins to stalk towards me, knowing it's about to make its kill. Behind me is only dark tunnel and in front of me is the bear and its pen. I stay perfectly still. _Think, Wendy, think,_ I urge. My mind skitters around, grasping at any and all solutions. What are the bears weaknesses? What do I know about it? I grab desperately for anything. It's big, it's mean, it came out of that pen. _None of that is helpful, you stupid girl,_ I think to myself. But then it hits me. It's stupid and probably won't work but it's the only feasible option.

I wait until the bear has stalk closer towards me before lunging and sliding under. My skin scrapes agains the stone floor and and tumble out behind it. He looks around confused before locking in one again. I pick myself up and dash right into its pen. I run straight to the back until I slam into a wall. I grope at it, blindly, hoping that my guess was right. Finally my fingers graze along a long, metal lever. I almost cry. I can't believe I was right.

The bear bounds after me. In the dark, I can hardly see, but make a vaguely educated guess and before I lunge and slide again, I pull down hard on the lever with all my might. As I bound towards the bear again, it's figured out my tactic and makes a swipe at me with its paw. It catches my cheek and I feel a searing hot pain across my face, but I slide out behind it. I pick myself up and dash for the closing wall. It's closing quickly and I have to slide again to just make it, before the wall comes down on me. I hear the bear thud against the door and I lie on my back for a few seconds.

I can't believe that worked.

I stand up quickly, not having much time to bask in my success. I see Pan, up and standing before me, his mouth hanging open. I've never seen him look more surprised. Before I have time to quip anything out, a flash out the corner of my eyes reminds me of the star. I grab Pan by the wrist and pull him along.

We race along the maze, the star zipping along ahead of us. I don't even feel the huge slash on my face or the scrapes and cuts on my hands and feet. I feel alive and as if I can take on anything. I pick up my pace and end up in front of Pan.

We suddenly round a sharp bend and I'm hit with confusion as I tumble down through thin air. I think I let out a scream behind I hit the ground and all the air escapes from me. My lungs contract and I gasp for a few moments before trying to understand what exactly just happened. I flip over onto my back and stare up. Peter's face peaks over the side.

"Wendy?" he calls down. "Are you okay?"

I let out a wheezy cough before answering. "I don't know."

"That's a terrible answer," he shouts back. I've just fallen into a hole and he's critiquing me on my answers.

"Just get me out of here," I call back.

"It's too far to grab you. I don't know how."

"What do you mean you don't know how? Just use your magic."

"Everything is charmed down here. None of my magic will work unless I shut it down from the centre of the house." I'm in too much pain to yell at him, but I realize this is another tidbit of information about the house he didn't tell me. It has a control room

"Where's that?"

"The library." He's words click. _A library, of sorts_. He meant a library with a magical control room, that as he's just figured out turns off the magic that controls the maze. "If I can get there, I can come back and get you." I close my eyes. If he can get there. He wants me to give him the star. If I give him the star, he's not coming back. He will leave me to die in this godforsaken hole, with no hope of finding my brother and getting back to my family.

"You're going to take the star and leave me," I say.

"Either you give me the star, and you have a hope of surviving, or you don't and we both die," Peter shouts down. It takes too much energy to tell him, but I do contemplate letting us both die. There would be one less issue to worry about. But I can't give up that easily. That sliver of hope is all I have for my family.

"Fine, take it," I say, pretty much signing my death certificate. I see Peter leap over me and hear his footsteps retreating. I lie in the darkness, in excruciating pain, wondering why the hell I didn't just take Peter down with me. It's just like all those years ago, I gave up my heart, knowing it would secure his reign, in hopes of getting Bae back. Except this time I know I'm getting played and I still do it. Why do I do these things? It's not like I think he's coming back. He isn't. I just gave him my only bargaining chip and gave him permission to leave me to die.

I shake my head. I can't keep dwelling on the stupid things I've done. I can still find some way to get out of here. I can still get to Neal. I try and sit up, but I feel like the breath's being knocked out of me again, and I slump back onto the floor.

"Baby steps, Wendy," I tell myself. First I lift my head up. It's excruciating but manageable. I lie it back down. Next I lift up my shoulders. Finally I manage to prop myself up on my elbows. Excited, I fully sit up and am hit by a huge wave of pain before I feel myself falling unconscious.

I don't know how much time has passed -enough to have dreams about large bears and crumbling floors- before I'm jolted awake by the sound of rock scraping against rock. I lie in the darkness, my heart pounding. It takes me a few seconds to remember where I am. Once I've figured that out, I look around to try and identify the scraping sound. It's completely black in the tunnel and I can't see anything. I stretch out my arms, trying to grasp at something anything. Both my hands graze against a cold stone wall and I freeze. I didn't know exactly what the hole looked like, but I know it was bigger than this. I gasp. The scraping sound, the rock against rock, is the walls of the hole closing in on me.

I manage to sit up this time without passing out. I grab at the wall, searching for a foot hold anything. I slowly stand up and continue grasping at the wall for anything to pull myself up. Nothing. I reach even higher and still nothing. I turn to the other one and grope at it frantically. Nothing. I jump up, searching. I jog along the sides searching for anything. I try frantically to dig my nails into the wall, but that just leaves them bloody and scraped up.

The scraping sound continues and now the hole is just small enough that I can reach out one arm between the two walls. I can't see where the wall is. I feel like I'm being suffocating. I let out an exasperated cry and slam my fist against the wall. I can't believe this is what it comes to, being smashed between two boulders in some abandoned mansion in the middle of nowhere. After all that I've gone through, I've been beaten by some rocks.

I lean my forehead against the rocks and close my eyes. I should try and accept it, not think about it. I turn my thoughts to my family, of my few happy memories that I have: Christmas with my parents, reading by the fire with my brothers, learning to ride horses with Bae-

Before I can even finish the thought, strong hands grasp my waist and pull me up. I scream and flail around before I realize that it's Peter, flying. He zip out of the hole just before it closes. The star glows just above us and I can his wide eyes in the dim lit, his hair strewn haphazardly across his brow. I can even see the bruises forming along his cheek.

My hands are still balled up tightly in his shirt and his hands are set firmly on my hips. My vision blurs and my head feels light, but I manage to get out, "You came back" before slipping into unconsciousness again.


	25. Old Habits Die Hard

"Be careful!" I hiss as Peter cleans out the bear claw scratch across my cheek. He's found some very old alcohol and is now trying to ward off infection, but I really think he's just enjoying watching me writhe around in pain.

"You're such a baby," he shoots back, without even breaking his carefully trained gaze on my cheek. Much to my surprise however, he does soften his grip on my chin and dabs the alcohol-soaked cloth lightly. He doesn't meet my gaze. I think he's still embarrassed about being wrong about me. I feel wonderful. I'm still surfing out the adrenaline rush from my time in the maze, even after fainting twice, and so amazingly proud of myself. It makes my heart race. I want to laugh just thinking about it. I wish Wendy from Neverland could see this and know that she's so much more capable of just patching up little boys wounds and yelling at Peter. "Wipe that stupid grin off your face."

I don't know how much an affect it has, but I manage to glare at Peter as he works at my scratch. "You know that we wouldn't have gotten anywhere without me."

"You fell down a hole."

"You forgot about the star _and_ got knocked out by a bear." Peter rolls his eyes. I lick my finger and draw an imaginary one in the air. "Wendy: one. Peter: _zero_." He grabs at my chin and jerks my head painfully so he can put the bandage on it. He finishes with the bandage and more softly this time, turns my chin so I'm facing him, his face inches away from mine.

" _I came back_ ," he says, quietly. For a decent human being, it's not that big of a deal, but for Peter it really is a big deal. His eyes bore into me and I feel my heart rate pick up. I glare back at him and bat his hands away.

"Good job, Peter. You did something a decent person would do," I say with mock congratulations.

Peter humphs out a mumbled acknowledgement and grabs my hands and begins to pick out the tiny pebbles that are embedded in my skin after sliding around with the bear. His head bows to me and I become very aware that my neckline is much too low for my liking, but more importantly, I fear he's going to glimpse the thimble that I keep around my neck and pocketed safely under it. I try and turn so that there is no possible way he can see it. I shake out my hair so it covers the chain. I don't want him to think that it's because of him that I still have it. It's the only thing that's left of my mother, my parents. It's been so long their memories are becoming worn and frayed and sometimes I realize in a panic that I can't quite remember how Mother's perfume smelled or the way Father laughed. That realization is almost as terrifying as my nightmares. I still don't think I've gone through a normal grieving process, perhaps I never will, but I do know I miss them and want to keep their memory far from Peter.

Peter picks painfully at my hand and I yelp. He looks up. "If you don't stop fidgeting, I'm going to rip off your skin by accident, bird," he warns.

"You could be more careful, you know," I tell him as he continues to pick out the pebbles.

"I was never meant to play doctor," he argues. " _You_ were always the one patching the boys up."

"And you, on occasion," I say, thinking back to the few times that Peter had gotten into very serious scuffles with the mer-folk or Hook or there was just a very powerful rogue Lost Boy who needed to be eliminated. Those few times I always considered leaving him. He was so weak. He wouldn't have been able to control who stayed on the island. But the logistics were tricky with the Lost Boys, and his Shadow was always there. Not to mention, my compulsion to stay and nurse him back to health. I've no idea why. If I had set my mind to it, I might have been able to get off the island.

But no, I had to play doctor and patch him up. Those were the times where Peter had to stay in my treehouse when he was too sick to even move. I would pull out an extra cot and lay awake the whole night, listening to hear if he was still breathing, waking up every few hours to check his fever, change his bandages. I didn't mind it as much as when he was healthy. He was too weak to be awful. Those times he was just a little boy, and I somehow found it in my heart to look after him.

"Yes, I remember," Pan says, through gritted teeth. He dabs the alcohol soaked cloth along my palm and I hiss out a curse.

He doesn't even look up. I picked up cursing in Neverland and now I can't seem to stop. I'm sure my parents are turning in their graves just hearing the words that spew out of my mouth, not to mention that I'm working with Peter.

Finally, he finishes with the alcohol soaked cloth and places my hands in my lap. He stands up and brushes off his hands before starting to meander to a particularly tall pile of books by a large bay window that looks out onto the lake that occupies the back of the property. It doesn't look like any of the boys that we came through getting here, but a pure, clean fresh water lake. Perhaps it would be good for fishing. "You're going to have to use that thimble now with those hands. Don't want to damage them anymore." I shake my head.

"I was hoping you wouldn't notice," I say leaning back in the armchair. I rest my head against the cool leather and close my eyes. If Peter remains silent, which he can do very well these days, I can pretend he's not here.

"How do you think Gold even got that, bird?" he says, turning to look at me with a expectant look. To be honest, I had suspected. Pan's and my arrival in Storybrooke at the same time Gold happened to find the thimble. It was not a coincidence, and in my life, coincidences are just Pan being sneaky, like this repeating of history, looking for Neal. I know there's more to the story than what he's telling me, but this time I have a little more sense.

"I saved it from Neverland," he says. "Placed it in Gold's shop to find. I had no more use for it and I knew how much it would torment you. Is it from me? Is it from your mother? Really it was wonderful."

"I don't wear it for you," I tell him. "It's the last piece of _my mother_."

"Yes, yes, you can tell yourself that, Wendy, but that's a double-edged sword you wear around that pretty little neck of yours," Pan says, leaning against the window. His gaze is so direct and harsh I struggle to continually meet it. "That necklace and the star are the last pieces of Neverland and you ended up with both of them."

"Then was the star your doing also?" I ask. It's not a coincidence that I ended up with both. It can't be.

"If the star was my doing, why would there be a spell on it to keep it away from me?" Peter asks as if I'm a child who can't understand a simple concept. I suppose the answer does make sense but it doesn't sit right with me. I know there's more to what he's saying he wants. I don't want to stick around to find out, but I truly do need him to find Neal. He has all the information, extra cash. It's a lot better than I would have done on my own.

"Not anymore there isn't," I point out.

Peter grins. "I'm aware." And so am I. As much as I hate Peter, he's essential to my plan and that star was the only thing keeping him in the alliance with me. Perhaps I can strike a deal with him to give me the maps and he can continue on his merry way-

"But I'm not leaving," he states plainly. When he sees my look of disbelief, he continues, "We're going to be finding lots of magical items that could be useful to me. It's the best option really. And besides, finding my brother and exacting my vengeance would be fun."

I shake my head. "I don't believe you," I say calmly.

Peter rolls his eyes. "It doesn't matter. Either way, we're still working together. The star was the biggest part of my plan, but there are still things I need, people to see. I don't care if you don't believe me, and it doesn't matter. You've just got to deal with it."

I just look at him and shake my head. I was supposed to escape from Peter when I came here, not go right back to seeing him every waking hour of the day. I'm tired of him. He makes my heart hurt and my hands feel raw just being near him. I wish he would just get out of my life and stay out, but he always seems to find a way to weasel back into it. It's frustrating and terrifying and it makes me feel like screaming. But there's no way around it this time. I've got to sacrifice how I feel for Baelfire. I've got to bring him back home even if it means working with Pan. I've got to.

I grit my teeth. "Fine," I say. Peter looks at me and grins and I feel like smacking that stupid grin right off his face. He turns back to the window and I catch a glimpse of a stick, wet patch of blood on his black shirt. "Come here. I've got to patch up that wound on your shoulder from the arrow." Peter looks back at me with a grin on his face. He turns back and slowly walks towards me, tugging his shirt over his head. I sigh. "There's no need for a show, Peter. I don't care what you look like. I just don't want that to get infected."

"You keep telling yourself that, Wendy," Peter says, almost laughing.

We switch places and he almost lounges in the chair as I pour some alcohol back on a new cloth and begin to wipe the blood away. How many times have we been in this position, Peter mangled and me patching him up and staying with him against my better judgement?

"I guess old habits die hard, right, bird?" Peter says.


	26. Gavin

It's nearly midnight when I'm startled from my needlepoint by a loud din echoing through the forest. I jolt upright in my chair and look around wildly, thinking for a second the raucous was right next to me. I place the needlepoint down on the table and pad over to the window. I stick my head out and turn it ever which way to see where the shouting is coming from. It's unsurprising that it's coming from the camp. The Lost Boys are always shouting and taunting each other, they love violent games and to jeer each other on. Playing doctor to them get tedious with all their minor bumps and bruises, which wouldn't be as big an issue if they just washed themselves to ward off infection. They seem to think, however, that I can fight off whatever medical ailment they have. I tried to convince Pan years ago that I have minimal medical training, just that that my mother, a nurse, passed on to me. Pan wouldn't hear any of it, and here I am now, in the middle of the night, grabbing my medicine bag and venturing off into the woods to go fix whatever nasty scrapes those grimy boys have gotten into.

As I trek further and further into the woods, I begin to realize that these shouts are far from the normal ones. They're filled with terror and anger and they shoot daggers into my heart. I pick up the pace and urge myself faster towards the camp. I run as fast as I can, almost flying over rocks and around bends but my feet get caught in all the vines and roots on the forest floor with the minimal light. The moon's always full, but the heavy tree canopy blocks out a lot of the light. Soon enough though, I burst out into the camp to find the whole of the Lost Boy clan in a complete state of disaster. Swords clang and clash violently and arrows fly haphazardly through the air. I was right. This is not a normal violent game, these boys are out for blood.

I drop my bag and begin to move around the circle trying to decipher what exactly the problem is and also, where Pan is. He doesn't usually let the boys fight for real. The boys fighting makes them divided, and a divided kingdom is not what Pan wants. It makes his rule unsteady and it makes him nervous. If anyone ever poses a problem, he usually just kills them off to appease the Lost Boys. However, this time, he is nowhere in sight. I search frantically for his second-in-command, Felix.

Felix and I dislike each other even more than Pan and I. I think he sees me as a threat to his and Pan's relationship, but I don't see why. I've been here twenty years and Pan is still just as fond of Felix as ever, and as nasty to me. Finally I locate the slim, blonde boy at the edge of the crowd, not contributing to the violence, but cheering it on. I grab hold of his arm and shake him.

"What the hell is going on?" I yell over the racket.

Felix just looks down at me and grins. "The boys are teaching one of the newbies a lesson," he explains. He folds his arms and looks out on the melee with satisfaction. Felix, like Pan, thrives on chaos.

"They need to stop fighting, someone's going to get hurt!"

Felix looks at me as if I'm a dolt. "That's the point, Wendy. That's the lesson," he grinds out. I've spent two decades here and I'm still surprised at these boys' hunger for violence.

"Pan won't like this," I warn him. Felix shrugs off my warning. He's been here much longer than I have and seems to think that whatever he does Pan will approve of, but he often forgets that Pan's reign is not as secure as he'd like it to be. He seems to forget about when I first arrived on the island and Neal had almost lead a revolution against him. It was squashed and most of the boys who sided with Neal were killed. Pan never told me what became of my brother, and I like to hope that he made it out, but the more time that passes, the more my hope for his life falters. "Where is Pan, anyway? I demand of Felix.

He rolls his eyes at me. "Recruiting. Where do you think?" Of course, the more boys, the strong his army. I shake off the though of Pan before trying to assess the situation. The boys seem to be focused on the centre of the fuss. They all scream and curse and knock each other's teeth out. It's been long enough that I don't cringe at all the blood and bruises anymore. What sickens me is the pleasure they take it in, how I can see the happiness they feel when they sink their knives through each other. It's like that don't realize that these boys are people too. It used to scare me, but now it just makes me angry. Angry enough to try and burst into the crowd to stop them.

The first time, I don't even realize I'm doing it. I just feel myself getting knocked back and having the wind forced out of my lungs. I skid across the forest floor and wait for my world to stop spinning. I slowly sit up and tell myself that perhaps that was not the best tactic. This time when I force my way into the crowd I don't run in, I slip between the colliding bodies. They don't seem to even see that I'm there which explains why I end up getting elbowed in the face. I don't even realize that my nose is bleeding until I taste it on my lips.

I drop to the ground and begin to crawl on my hands and knees towards the centre of the fight. I don't even know why I'm doing it. For all I know, one of their violent games has just gotten out of hand. But it may also be that someone innocent is in danger. There's so little innocence on this island that I've got to protect it. It's all I can do.

I make my way slowly, painfully. I don't get elbowed in the face, but my hands get trampled over and I'm fairly certain that at least three boys have tripped over me. No one seems to notice my white nightgown slipping through the crowd. Soon I arrive at the centre of it and I let out an audibly gasp that's lost in the shouting. In the centre is one of the small, younger boys who I've actually come to like. _Gavin_. He's one of the youngest boys here, only five. He's small and quiet and kind. He's a favourite of mine and dote on him all the time, he sometimes even comes to my treehouse for bedtime stories and cookies. Oddly enough, Pan's quite fond of him, too. I know he's taken him to teach him how to swim at least three times. He's unlike any of the other boys. He didn't even come to Neverland of his own volition, he followed his older war-like brother, Christopher. What a terrible thing for their parents, to lose both boys. Gavin's in the centre of the mess covered in his own blood. I can see that some of his teeth have been knocked out, and he's definitely got a dislocated shoulder. My heart aches for the tiny boy. I crawl forward and when he sees me, he begins to cry. He weeps and thrashes around and reaches out for me, as I reach out for him, but before I can grab his hand, he's being pulled back by the collar. I fall forward as I jump out to grab him by the feet. I get up immediately and reach out for Gavin again. I register that he's being held by one of the older boys, Gregory. He's all angles and points and dark hair and eyes. He's one of the most violent boys I've ever come across.

I rush towards Gavin and grasp his small body. His tiny hands tangle in my hair. He cries out my name. "Give him to me, Gregory!" I shout. "He's too young to be involved!" Gregory jump laughs and lets go of Gavin's collar only to grab him by the neck. He shakes him once and Gavin's eyes bulge out. He's neck is so small and Gregory's hands are so large.

"Don't you dare hurt him, Gregory. You'll have Pan to answer to, but most importantly, you'll have me!" I warn. I realize that the din of the battle has quieted down and that all the Lost Boys are now standing silently watching Gregory's and my stand-off.

Gregory narrows his eyes at me. "Oh, the fearsome Wendy! So terrifying!" he grinds out.

"Let him go, Gregory. He's done nothing wrong," I plead.

Gregory throws his head back and laughs. "No, he's what caused all of this," he says vehemently. He shakes Gavin. "Because of him Christopher's dead." My stomach drops. He must be lying.

"Gavin is five. It's not possible," I tell him.

"Gavin went after Christopher, tried to told him back while he was sparring with some other boys. He though Chris was in danger. He ended up distracting him and Chris got a sword through the chest," Gregory explains. He turns towards Gavin and I can see his fingers clench tighter around Gavin's small neck. He shakes him and Gavin begins to cry again. "Do you hear that!" he shouts. "You're brother's dead because of you! You're a murderer and you have to pay!" I jump forward and grab Gregory by the wrists. He shakes me off and I stagger backwards.

"He didn't hurt anyone! He was trying to help! He is in no way a murderer! Now you let him down right now or else you'll be the murderer," I yell. Gavin just cries even louder. His crying is a comfort however. It means he's getting enough air to breath and cry. It's a good sign, I tell myself.

"Oh yeah? Says who?" Gregory sneers.

Before I can form an answer, a voice comes from behind me and I almost jump out of my skin. "Says me, Gregory," Pan says, stepping around me. "Put him down." Gregory's eyes bulge and he immediately drops Gavin, who runs as fast as he can to me. I scoop him up and hold him tightly, reassuring him and comforting him.

"It'll be alright," I whisper again and again. Gavin's tiny hands curl into my hair and his tears soak the shoulder of my dress. I pat his back and try to calm his tears.

"No one gets to decide who lives or die here except for me, Gregory," Pan says stalking towards Gregory. He looms over Gregory and Gregory begins to shake. "You should be killed for that."

Gregory gulps. "If I die for that, so should the kid. He killed his brother," he says, pointing frantically at Gavin. "If not for him, Christopher would still be alive."

"You stop telling lies, Gregory," I shout. "Whoever shoved a knife through Christopher is responsible. Gavin didn't understand and it was not his fault." I look at Peter. I know he kills just for fun and Gavin would be easy. I clutch him closer to me. "Don't kill him, Pan. He did nothing wrong."

Suddenly, Felix materializes beside me, shaking his head. "He was the instigator, Peter. He needs to pay for what he's done. Maybe the boys were wrong to try and punish him, but he deserves it," Felix urges. I feel like hitting him. How can they not see that this was just an accident?

"No, he does not, Felix!" I yell. I turn to Pan. "He's done nothing wrong, and you know it. You can't kill him, he's just an innocent."

"The rules state that anyone who causes a death must pay," Felix implores. He shoots me a half grin. He knows he's won, but I can't give up on Gavin.

"He didn't know any better. He thought his brother was in trouble," I urge Peter. "Have some mercy." Pan narrows his eyes at me and I almost believe for a moment that he'll kill Gavin, who I know is a favourite of his.

"Pan, it's clear-"

"Shut up, both of you!" Pan bursts. "And let me think!" He turns around and takes a few paces away from the crowd. He runs his hands through his hair and snarls a few words to himself. I've never seen him so torn. He spends a few more moments arguing with himself before he comes back to us. "He lives," he grinds out. I almost laugh when I hear the news. Gregory and the other boys roar in disapproval and Felix looks as if he's been knocked over by a boulder. The crowd erupts into an uproar and I just cling tighter to Gavin. Pan grabs me by the arm. "Take him back to your place. Fix him up." I nod and start of running with Gavin in my arms. I pick up my bag of supplies and run faster than I ever have back to my treehouse.

I begin work on Gavin quickly, who's calmed down sufficiently by now. He doesn't cry anymore and is a brave little boy when I begin to stitch him up. He hardly even squirms when I pop his shoulder back into place. There's not much I can do about his teeth, but he's so young that these aren't his adult ones. I tell him that new ones, better ones will come in soon.

I run him a warm bath and soak him in it, scrubbing out the dirt and grime. I scrub at his hair and make sure he's cleaner than he was before. I get him out and dry him off, and then I get him into a new set of clothes. I scoop him up and wraps his tiny arms around my neck. It's this gesture that makes my heart ache. If I were back home, I'd have had children his age and older by now. I would know exactly what it feels like to do this for my own child. I squeeze him tight and whisper comfort to him. I lay him down in my bed and tuck him underneath the covers. He stares up at me with big blue eyes and he looks so much like Michael when he was younger that my heart almost breaks.

"Thank you for saving me, Wendy," he says quietly. I smile and kiss him on the forehead.

"You're welcome, Gavin. You didm't do anything wrong," I tell him softly. "You'll be okay." At this, Gavin begins to cry, I think less about his injuries and much more about his brother. I'm not sure what will happen to the body or the person who actually killed Christopher. I gather Gavin into my arms and rock him, telling him that he did nothing wrong, that Christopher is in a better place, that he's safe now. I rock him and kiss his head until his crying stops, and even after that when I begin telling him bedtime stories to soothe him. Eventually, he falls asleep in my arms and I tuck him back under the covers and let him rest. I curtain off the area around my bed and begin to pick up all the bloodstained clothing before I noticed that Pan's sitting at the kitchen table, examining my needlepoint. If he notices the fright I have seeing him, he doesn't let on.

"It was stupid what you did, bird. Stupid and reckless," he grinds out without looking up.

"Gavin needed to be saved," I tell him, crossly. "There's no two ways about it."

"Doesn't matter. What you did was stupid, and it was even stupider trying to convince the Lost Boys otherwise," Pan explains. "You didn't see, but all of them had their weapons trained on you. You could have died."

I sit down at the table across from him. "Not much I have to live for here. If I died saving Gavin, I'd been fine with it." Pan finally looks up and glares at me.

"I wouldn't be. I need you for the Lost Boys," he grinds out.

"So that would be worth innocent blood being shed?" I shoot back.

"You don't realize your importance," Peter says, bringing his fist down on the table.

"If it's important to you, it's unimportant to me," I say, unfazed.

"You can't just go around challenging everyone," he continues on, ignoring me.

"I was doing what was right, Peter. Something you actually did for once," I tell him.

"It was against the rules," he says. He barely even looks at me, as if he's ashamed. His jaw is set and his mouth is a thin line. "If one of them breaks the rules and gets away with it, then all of them can."

I narrow my eyes at him. "If I hadn't been there, you would have sacrificed Gavin for stability?"

"I think you forget that I don't care about morals, bird," Pan grinds out. "I don't care about Gavin, or anyone for that matter. Gregory was wrong and I couldn't let what he was trying to do come to fruition. They can't make decisions without me." I shake my head and push back my chair. I begin to pace the room. I've known Pan for twenty years and I'm still amazed at how little he cares for anything. I can't believe he fooled me into it once.

"You showed mercy today," I tell him. I turn and face him. "Whatever you call it, or justify it with, you showed mercy which is morally correct." Pan rolls his eyes.

"I don't care what you say. My decisions are driven by my needs, not by morals. It's been two decades, when are you going to get it through that thick skull of yours?" he growls out.

I shake my head. "Why are you even here anyway?" I ask. "I know spending time with me isn't exactly your favourite late night activity." Pan slides his eyes and glares at me.

"Came to see Gavin." He stands up abruptly and makes his way over to the curtain. He tosses it back and I follow him. "I'm going to punish Gregory accordingly." When he looks down at Gavin's tiny figure though, I can see all thoughts of punishment flying out of his mind. I know he cares for Gavin, even if it is hardly anything. He bends down and tenderly brushes back his tangled blond halo. He looks so peaceful. "He looks better. You did a good job."

I murmur out a thank you and then we both let the silence hang in the air as we watch over Gavin sleeping. We don't say anything and it's the longest silence I've ever experienced with Peter. He just brushes back Gavin's hair and I know that no matter what he says, he cares for Gavin and saved him because it was the right thing to do. Pan's a monsters, but monster's can still care for others. Right?

Soon, Peter leaves with orders to keep Gavin with me for the week, which I'm delighted to do. I finish cleaning up and collapse into the cot that I keep for Peter. I feel as if I've only closed my eyes for a second before I'm being shaken awake. I flail around before I come face to face with Felix. He grabs me by the hair and covers my mouth with his hand.

"You bitch," he sneers. "You made me look stupid in front of everyone today. You've ruined everything." I bit down on his hand but he continues to talk. "I've never seen Pan act this way, and I know it's because of you. You're changing him, weakening him. It's taken a while, but I knew you would fuck him up." He tugs at my hair and my scalp burns painfully. "I've hated you from the moment you came here, and if I had any say in the matter, you'd have been six feet under as soon as I could get my hands on you." His hand moves from my hair to my neck. "You haven't gotten away with it this time. Someone's got to pay." He then throws me back onto the bed and stalks off into the night before telling me, "You've ruined him, you bitch." And with that he disappears into the night.

After that, there are no more unexpected visitors. Gavin and I spend the week together, playing and laughing and healing. Pan comes in twice to give us food and to give Gavin some toys. He spends half an hour each time playing with Gavin. It's the first time I've ever seen him really interact with Gavin and he's wonderful. He's more than decent. he's kind and caring. He's human. I watch quietly, not wanting to break the spell.

Soon however, it breaks and Pan rushes out, almost angry both times. And soon, the spell that Gavin and I had while we spent the week together breaks, and it's time for him to join the other Lost Boys. He cries on the short walk to the camp and I only get him to calm down when I promise to come back that night and put him to bed in his tiny room. I agree and assure him that it won't be long until I see him again. In fact, it will only be an hour or two before his bedtime. I'm simply going to go replenish my herb kit and come back. He consents and I kiss his forehead and wave goodbye.

Two hours pass quickly, and I'm surprised to find myself trekking back to the camp to say goodnight to Gavin. The herb picking went well and I'm excited to show them to him. I slip through camp and take the twisting staircase down the roots of the trees to the underground network of the Lost Boy's rooms. I stop and Gavin's door and knock. When he doesn't answer, I figure he must have already fallen asleep and I open it just a crack, but when I peek inside, I don't see him in bed. I swing the door open, and look frantically around until my heart practically stops at the sight.

I scream as loud as I ever have before when I see Gavin dead on the floor, a knife in his chest. I rush to him, screaming and crying, trying desperately to find a pulse. I don't find one. Oh, God, he's so small and so broken. I gather him up in my arms as I did the first night with him and rock him, crying and screaming. I bury my face in his neck and weep, my heart shattering.

Soon, strong hands pull me back from Gavin and I realize it's Pan. I turn on him and begin to pound on his chest. "You bastard!" I cry. "You killed him to keep the balance! You murderer! He was just an innocent!" I beat against his chest, but Peter just looks on, confused. He grabs my wrists in one hand and grabs my chin in the other.

"Calm down!" he shouts. "I didn't kill him, bird."

"Then who did?" I shriek, and suddenly, I've answered my own question. Felix. Felix said someone had to pay. Oh, God, Gregory and the others must have gotten to him. "It was Felix! He threatened me and he threatened Gavin! The others must have gotten him!" Pan's eyes widen. He drops my wrists and is out the door before I can say another word.

Pan ends up publicly killing Gregory and some of his accomplices. I hear from the other boys that it's bloody, but don't attend. He doesn't kill Felix. He likes him too much. But the next time I see Felix, he has a long scar running down his face and looks as if he's been beaten to a pulp. He's too proud to ask for help and I'm too angry to give it.

I bury Gavin on a cliff overlooking the sea. I put a small white cross as a grave marker. I spend the first two weeks after Gavin's death there. I hardly eat or sleep. Peter visits too. His eyes and voice are hard, but when he looks at the grave, it's like he sees Gavin's small broken body again, and I know he misses him and it breaks his heart. We don't talk for hours, just mourn silently.

I think he feels bad about having to have killed the other boys. He didn't need or want to. And for the first time, I realize that Pan does not have complete control over everything and that maybe he doesn't enjoy killing nearly as much as he says. I almost want to say sorry, that his hand was forced, that it wasn't his fault. But I can't bring myself to comfort a monster. Instead I give him a pat on the back. He doesn't look up but places his hand on my knee, for just a second. I glance over at Peter and I almost think that I see a single tear slip down his face. I know that's the closest thing we've ever had to being good to each other, to being kind, to showing humanity and compassion. Too bad what brought us together is dead. I suppose pain is what brings us together, I think to myself.

After three weeks of mourning, Peter gets up and walks off. He never mentions Gavin again and I don't see him come to the grave ever again. He never shows any of the other Lost Boy's ever the compassion and kindness he did Gavin. I suppose his humanity is buried with Gavin.


	27. Sweet Dreams

The first thing I'm aware of is falling over a large tree root. My toes stub into it and I fall onto the ground, not having enough time to even put out my arms to stop myself. My face crashes into the hard forest floor. I taste dirt and blood. I spit it out quickly and pick myself up. I can hear my heart thumping so loudly in my ears, it almost drowns out the screams of lost little boys coming from all around.

"You couldn't save us, Wendy!" they shriek out into the night. I try and run as fast as possible to get away from them all, but they're always at my heels. I can see their faces, their little hands, I can smell their blood. Oh, God, it's on my hands. I couldn't save them, save them from _him_.

"He killed us, Wendy! You could have protected us!" they wail. I cover my ears with my hands and continue to run through the underbrush. I can still hear their voices loud and clear, telling me how I failed them, that their deaths are my hands. Pan is a monster, but I could have stopped him. I could have saved them. Their blood is on my hands, soaking them, drenching me and everything I do. Everything I touch and try to fix is always tinged with their blood. It will never go away, it will always be my fault. I feel Gavin's tiny hands in mine, his face burrowing into my shoulder. I can feel his warm small body, and then it turns cold and dead in my grasp. _Oh, God, it's all my fault._

Then suddenly, he's there. He grabs at my wrists and keeps me in one place. There's blood on his hands, too. All over his arms, smeared across his face. He looks savage and alive. He looks wonderful with a nasty snarl on his face. "Wendy, stop your yelling! You're going to wake the people next door up!" I don't understand. What people next door? He shakes me again. "Bird, wake up! You're having a nightmare." He shakes me once more and my eyes jolt open.

I nearly scream again before Peter covers my mouth with his hand. I must still be in my nightmare. I try and claw of Peter's hand but he holds firm. "Wendy, you had a bad dream. You're awake now. You're safe," he assures. How can I be when he's here? "I'm going to take my hand off now, so don't scream." I nod and he slowly moves back his hand. I immediately push myself away from him closer to the head of the bed, far from where he sits on the edge.

I put my head in my hands and rub my forehead, trying to rub away the dream. I haven't had one in what seems like forever. My brothers have helped me so much and I hadn't realized it. A nightmare free sleep is a luxury I've gotten too used to. "Can you turn on the light please?" I say quietly.

I hear the strike of a few matches and suddenly the room bursts into light. Immediately, I feel safer and warmer. I hear the creak of the bed and I assume Peter goes back to his own bed. I don't expect him to care about the damage he's done. I lean my head back against the headboard and sigh. I'm going to miss sleeping. I reach up to the thimble at my neck and twist it around. I ache for my mother's soothing voice and stories when I had nightmares. I miss them and her so much I feel it in my bones. I wish I was at home. I feel weary and tired. We've only been to two mansions and I'm already fed up with this trip.

"Here." I look up and Peter thrusts a glass of water at me. I almost have a heart attack from the surprise. I have never seen Peter do anything for anyone, let alone me, just because he thought it would help. I'm almost too surprised to take it.

Peter sits back down on the bed and glares at me. "Don't look so surprised, bird. I can get you a glass of water. I came back for you in the Lake Manor and I helped with your bear claw scratch and I helped you onto Ash today. I can do things that aren't malicious."

After swallowing the water, I say, "I wasn't aware." Peter just makes a face at me before turning away. I've no idea why he hasn't gone back to sleep yet, I mean it's the middle of the night, and I know how much Peter hates to be woken up. He made it a point to make sure any issues between Lost Boys that occurred while he was sleeping went to me, which I found exceedingly disruptive considering he also had a perfectly capable second in command.

We sit in silence for a few beats, me sipping on my water, trying to slow my heart beat, and Peter sitting on the edge of the bed, staring off into the distance. Finally, Peter turns to me and asks, "These are going to continue to happen often, aren't they?" I shrug. To be quite honest, I've no idea why they hadn't started earlier. "I can make them go away." I just look at him, eyebrow raised.

"Why are you offering this?" It's a decent thing to do, and God knows, Peter is not decent. At least, I haven't known him to be. Sometimes, I get the odd feeling that he wants to be, but then I shake off that feeling and laugh at myself for being that silly. Peter is incapable of any kindness, even if he says otherwise.

He shrugs. "I don't want to be kept up." Makes sense. I mean, it's not like he isn't the reason for all these dreams and it's not as if it's his responsibility to own up to it and help. No, he just can't lose sleep over it.

I seriously contemplate saying no to him. I don't want him tampering with my brain and I also want him to suffer with these dreams like I am. Except, I really, really want to just have a sound sleep. It's tiring and painful to relive all those memories. "Fine," I tell him.

He turns around and moves towards me, hands outstretched. I coil back. He rolls his eyes. "Wendy, it's part of the spell," he tells me. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"How do you know how to do this anyway? This spell or whatever?" I ask.

He shrugs. "I think you forget that these dreams you're having, the memories you're reliving, I was there, too. I remember the same things, bird."

"It's not the same," I snap. "You don't have a conscience, or regret over any of the things you've done."

"Says who?" Peter grinds out. I look at him about to retort that obviously he said so, but I can't quite recall when he's ever said anything of the sort. I sit back and glare at him and he glares right back at me.

"Well, I don't recall you ever saying that, but for as long as I've known you, you've loved to kill and torment. You can't have a conscience with all you've done. You just can't," I explain.

Peter's face softens a tiny bit, so much so that anyone who doesn't really know him wouldn't have even seen it. "Not before, but maybe now."

"Somehow, I find that hard to believe. You can't just wake up one day and suddenly have a conscience, or morals," I tell him. "That's not the way things work, Peter."

"I'm not saying I have morals now. I'm just saying that now looking back, sometimes I wish that I hadn't done some things."

"If I didn't know you any better, I'd say you were describing regret," I tell him. "But I do know you, and I'm quite certain you aren't, or rather, that you can't."

"Don't tell me what I can and can't do!"

"When it comes to being a good person, Peter, we both know I'm the closest thing we have to an expert. I've never seen you do a decent thing that was't self-seeking."

"That's not true!"

"Oh really? Give me an example then."

"Gavin." The name hangs in the air and my heart sinks. I can feel him in my arms again, just like the dream. I try not to think about Gavin much these days, it hurts far too much. "When I saved Gavin, I saved him because he was innocent."

"You said that you saved him because you couldn't let the boys decide what to do," I snap back. He is not allowed to tell me that he saved Gavin out of the goodness of his heart.

"At that point, I didn't really want you to know that I could show mercy," he tells me.

"What the hell is wrong with knowing that you have a shred of decency in you?"

Peter shrugs. "It's not worth mentioning. Not right now at least." I just glare at him, shaking my head. I haven't been so confused about Peter's motives since he shoved my heart right back into me. "Just believe me when I say that I do sometimes feel regret, Wendy."

"No, I won't. Not now, not ever, Peter," I tell him vehemently, crossing my arms.

"Fine," he bites out. "It doesn't matter to me. Let's just get in and get out and be done with this as soon as possible." He crosses his arms and pouts. He looks just like a spoiled child.

"Only a few more months," I snap. We sit in silence for a few more minutes, both too angry to got to bed. I can't believe he would even try to convince me that he feels regret. He isn't capable of regret, or guilt or any real feelings other than bloodlust. It's a complete mockery that he would even say such a thing. After all that's happened, after all he's done, he has the audacity to take it back, to say he has humanity?

"Alright," Peter finally says, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Come here. Let's go to bed." I lean forward and let Peter reach out his hands to me. He cups my face softly. His hands are warm and smooth on my face, almost comforting. He dares to bring his eyes up to me. He looks tired, his five o'clock shadow turning into a three o'clock in the morning shadow. He has dark circles under his eyes. He really truly looks like he hasn't been sleeping. I suppose there may be some truth to his story, about his dreams. What I know isn't true is that they haunt him. And even if he is telling the truth, that they do haunt him, he deserves it. "This will last for a few weeks at a time," he explains. "I'm not sure exactly how it works, but it blocks out the memories that cause you the most pain. There will be a lot of dreams run by your subconscious desires with the spell." I nod into his hands.

I'm not quite sure when he starts the spell, but I soon become aware that everything feels soft and warm and I have serious trouble keeping my head up. My limbs all feel pleasantly heavy and my breathing becomes deeper. I can feel myself slipping into sleep. It feels wonderful to let go of all the ghosts and nightmares. I feel Peter take one hand off my face and pull back my covers. He helps my clumsy feet back into bed, sliding me down so my head rests on the extraordinarily soft pillow. He brings the covers up to my neck and softly tucks me in, with more tenderness in his touch than I knew was possible. I can't quite seem to recall why I was mad with him before this. He's so soft and I feel so warm. The light goes out and this time, I don't mind being in the dark. I feel content. Peter's hand comes back up to my face again. I'm not sure it's for the spell. I cover it with my own and squeeze it, trying to memorize how his long fingers feel, the skin rough but warm. I drop my handed just as quickly as I covered, the weight of sleep falling heavy on me.

I'm hardly awake when I hear Peter whisper, "Good night, bird."


	28. Mothers and Friends

"That's the last of them," I say with finality. I slam the last book closed and slump back in my chair. We've been searching for hours in this cramped library. This is the second day of searching this library. We got here early and now it's just passed midday and we've exhausted every resource. There isn't anything useful here.

Peter struggles to open his eyes and gives me an unimpressed look. He finished his books a while ago and has been dozing on and off. He shrugs. "This is only the second manor. I told you it's going to take a while to find," he says with a yawn. He crosses his arms and slumps lower into the armchair. He closes his eyes to make an attempt at sleeping, but I'm much too agitated now to let this go.

"But I haven't even seen any hint at any sort of spell," I continue on. I stand up and begin to pace. I feel too anxious to even think about staying still. I twist the thimble on my necklace around. "I mean, he's the Dark One. We should have found _something_ by now."

Peter opens his eyes long enough to glare at me before closing them. "There are infinite amounts of spells and incantations and magical objects that exist. To be able to find one specific, very rare, very ancient, very dangerous spell so quickly is pretty near impossible," Peter explains. "I wouldn't worry about it."

It takes me a second before I realize that Peter's offering me comfort. "I don't need your reassurance," I snap.

I can feel Peter roll his eyes. "Sounded like you were begging for some."

"Well, I don't want any of yours," I retort. "And besides, I've never pegged you as one to reassure anyone." It makes my heart beat fast to just think about Pan offering any kindness to anyone. I've never known him to be a decent human being, yet here he is telling me not to worry and saving me from certain death. What in the world is wrong with him?

"I'll do anything to get you to stop talking," he says mildly. I glare at his lounging form and huff out a breath. He makes me so angry sometimes and it makes me even angrier to know that he doesn't even care. _My fascination with you ended long ago and I just don't care anymore._ The words bounce around in my mind. I feel like hitting him just to get a rise out of him.

"Fine, then, if there's nothing here, let's go back to the inn. I'm tired and we have to ride early," I say as I begin to search for where I've thrown my cloak. I hear Peter yawn and stretch in his chair, like a lazy cat.

"Not just yet. I want to check on one thing here," Peter explains, slowly getting up from his seat. He picks up his own cloak and swings it over his shoulders. He quickly walks out of the room, seeming to have forgotten that he's been dozing for the past few hours. I roll my eyes at his retreating form and follow. Once I catch up to him, he tells me, "I'm quite certain it's here. No thieves had an interest in Gold's book collection, which is why I really don't have any way of knowing where any specific spell is, but they did have an interest in his magical items. My informants keep me up to date on the sorts of things thieves are looking for. This one hasn't been found yet. But it's rumoured that this particular mansion happens to house, supposedly, the cloak of the Three Fates. You see they were-"

"Oracles and goddesses who could tell the future, who were in control of the Threads of Life. Clothes spun the thread, Lachesis measured it and Atropos cut it. They were also known as the Moirai to the Greeks, but as the Fates to the English, or Parcae to the Romans," I say quickly. I think Peter's forgotten but he knows about the Fates because of me. They were one of the many bedtime stories I told the Lost Boys. "I told you about them, remember?"

Peter humphs. "It's been a long time, bird. Everything gets a little mixed up." I shrug beside him, because I actually do agree. All those years have blurred into a long, painful far away nightmare. The faces of the Lost Boys have all blended into one. All the the things I can remember merge into each other to become completely different memories. Peter is over four hundred years old, of course his memory is getting mixed up, like mine.

"How do your informants even know it's here?" I ask.

"They don't. It's just a rumour, but I like to know things in advance. I don't just go traipsing about without thinking things through."

"Your informants seem to know a lot. Are you ever going to give me the specifics on who they even are?" Peter looks at me as if I'm crazy. Why would he ever let me in on this? It's not as if we're both working together. I roll my eyes. I don't know what else I expected. "Why do you even want it?" I continue.

"It's for exactly the reason why I can't remember who told who the story. It's been a long time and I'm beginning to forget things," he explains. "I need contacts and old spells and hiding places I once used that I've forgotten now. I find my life strand, I can remember all that."

"Or you could remember all the terrible things you've done and finally own up to your mistakes. You know, atone for your sins, not be terrible," I shoot back. Peter looks at me, incredulous. It's satisfying to know I've struck a chord.

I let silence fall for a little while as we make our way through the winding hallways. I'm not sure where we're going and I let Peter lead me. I look up at him and try to connect the Peter I knew in Neverland with this one. Aside from his outward appearance, the dark clothes, the shadow of stubble, the darkening of his hair, I can also see that he's changed personality wise. He seems tired and almost weary. He's not content. He's morose and even more irritable than before, but not in the way that he lashes out. He doesn't seem to enjoy taunting me as much as he did before. In fact I think it tires him, much more than it bores him. I think he's getting tired of always being antagonistic. I think that's why he's slightly more decent these days. Four hundred years of being a bastard can tucker you out.

Abruptly, he swings through a doorway into a large room. It holds shelves and shelves of magical looking objects, both familiar and exotic. I take a moment to take in all the wondrous things in the room and-

"Close your mouth, Wendy. None of these things are real," Peter bites out. I turn to him, looking for an answer. "Do you really think Rumple would have just had a huge room with all of his magical possessions in plain sight?" Come to think of it, it doesn't make a lot of sense.

"I suppose not," I concede.

"Exactly, so that's why he has them all hidden," Peter explains. Peter begins to feel along the empty space of the wall, tapping them and listening. I just stand there, looking at him looking quite foolish in fact. I crack out a short giggle, which soon turns into a fit. He looks back at me, and I'm shocked to see a grin, one without malice. I'm so surprised I almost stop laughing at him. "Wendy, can you stop laughing and help me?" His words are harsh, but his tone for once isn't. It feels good to hear it.

I join him on the opposite wall, repeating his actions and feeling altogether silly. I soon sober and ask, "How do even know how to do this?"

There's a long pause before Peter finally answers. "My mother was the daughter of a very, very wealthy merchant," he remembers. I can only see his profile and I can't quite tell if there is a waver in his voice, filled with longing. Perhaps he misses his mother. "He always had lots of things in his house that he traded. All of it went quickly, but there were some items that he couldn't travel with because they were just so expensive. He had to have buyers come to his home to see them. He would hide them in rooms with lots of replaceable trinkets. Rather clever of him. My mother figured this out, that he did this and his hiding places were in the walls. If you pressed on the correct part of it, a compartment would open," he explains. He sounds like he's reminiscing about something pure and good. "When we would visit, which was not often, she'd show me this. It all seemed so magical, so wondrous. _She_ was wondrous, I suppose."

"You've never talked about your mother before," I say softly. A hundred years and he hasn't once mentioned her. I'd wondered for a long time how anyone could produce such an awful person. I had assumed that his parents were cruel to him and that's how he and Gold ended up alone, but I suppose not.

Peter's shoulders drop. "No. I suppose not," he says so quietly it's almost a whisper. I can't believe my eyes. Did the great and emotionless Peter Pan actually love someone? "She made me feel like I was good, even when I wasn't. She thought I was good." There's a pause and I almost feel as if he regrets not being good, solely for the purpose of being the son his mother saw him as. Then the spell breaks and he lets one a harsh laugh. "I suppose she was just as delusional as you were, bird."

"No, Pan, _you_ are just a very good liar," I quip. I almost go on to tell him that his mother must have been disappointed in him, but I can't. To make fun of one's dead mother is just too much, especially when she sounded like such a nice lady. It's tragic, how far both her sons have fallen. Pan's mouth sets into a firm line again, and he loses all the signs of missing his mother or regret. He sets about working again and quickly finds the compartment. It slides out of the wall smoothly, as if it were just oiled. There looks to be some sort of complicated lock on it, and I'm almost certain Peter won't be able to break it. Instead, however, he places his hand smoothly on the metal of it. The door glows green and then it suddenly folds in on itself. It drops to the floor with a large clank. I always forget Peter can take shortcuts with his magic.

Once the door falls away, I can clearly see inside. In it looks to be just a very ordinary black cloak, nothing unusual. When I told the story about it to the Lost Boys, I always imagined it as a sparkling royal blue, glittering and twinkling with all the wonderful lives of people all over the world. I suppose it's just as mundane as some lives are.

Peter reaches his hand inside and grabs at the cloak, greedily. As soon as his fingers come into contact with it though, he goes stock still. I can visibly see all his muscles clench and his eyes go wide. His mouth opens and closes like he's trying to gasp for words that just aren't there. His breathing becomes harsh and shallow. I immediately to pull his arm back, and see what's wrong, but as soon as I reach out to him, the fit is already over.

The cloak falls out from his hands and he looks as if he's seen a ghost. His eyes are still wide and filled with anguish. I've never seen him so shaken. He blinks a few times, trying to grasp at reality. Finally, he shakes himself enough to be able to form words. "We've got to burn that thing," he tells me.

"What?" I say, confused. "Peter, you can't just burn it because you don't like whatever it was you saw-"

"I didn't see anything!" he snaps. He glowers down at me and for this first time in a while I'm afraid of what he'll do. I take a step back from him.

"Don't lie to me, Peter," I warn him. "I know you saw something and you can't just burn everything that makes you feel bad about what you've done." Peter looks at me with so much rage that I'm afraid he'll burst. Whenever I'd made him mad in Neverland, he was always calm and cool and calculating. He never acted without thinking everything through. If there is one thing Peter isn't, it's rash.

"You don't know what I saw!" he yells.

"No, but I can see you!" I yell right back. I'm not sure if I meant that I can see him physically right now, or if I mean that I've seen what he's done for the past century. "Don't do anything you'll regret, Peter. You can't let your emotions get in the way of this."

Peter takes a big gulp of air and flares out his nostrils. He doesn't make any move to pick up the cloak, but he also doesn't seem to be calming down at all. He clenches his hands into fists and then unclenches them a few times. I can see now that's actually taking the time to make this decision. He grinds his teeth together and glares down at the mundane cloak at his feet.

Finally he says, "I don't want to see that _fucking_ thing ever again." With that, he swishes out of the room, his own cloak swinging around him as he leaves. I can hear his angry footsteps retreating down the hall.

"And to think he was being mildly decent today," I laugh to myself. I put on my raggedy riding gloves and carefully pick it up, fold it and put it into my bag. Using it may not have gone as planned but Peter's original theory is still valid. I may need to remember things in the future and this cloak is the key.

After shoving it into my bag, I quickly exit the room and follow Peter down the hall. He doesn't slow his pace at all, not when he practically jumps onto his horse and begins galloping back towards the inn. I urge Ash forward, trying to keep up with Peter but to give him enough distance to deal with all of this. I'm not one for comforting Peter, and I really don't think I should be getting in the way of this. Peter in a fit is not a Peter I want to deal with.

Finally, we reach the inn and Peter jumps off Samson. Ash trots in just behind and goes to work on the trough of oats in the stables. Peter comes to me, placing his hand on Ash's head, stroking it once. "I'm going out," he tells me tightly. "Don't expect me back."

I look down at him and before I can ask if he'll be okay, he's walked off, with his hood up and his hands clenched into fists. It's slightly concerning to see Peter like this, he never lets his emotions get in the way of anything. I shrug it off. Peter is none too concerned with how I feel or how I deal with my demons, so why should I be? I have better things to do than sit around and think about him. It's mid afternoon and it's only a little cloudy out. I have more than enough time to explore the little town we're in. We've been here almost two days and all I've seen is the mansion and the room at the inn.

So, I go exploring. I discover that he town is small and quaint, made mainly for passing merchants and traders. It's not built for tourism or seventeen year old girls looking for afternoon fun. It has a simple town square with a restaurant, pub, church and a market place for the merchants. There isn't much to do. There's a small cafe in the town that sells warm breads and sweet pastries, but the idea of going in alone with nothing to do seems lonely. I spent the past hundred years alone, and I don't want to be anymore. I want to start being with people I love and doing the things that I love. I crave my old habits. Reading, sketching, needlepoint. It's nothing too exciting, but to me the idea of it is luxurious. I haven't read a good book that wasn't a spell book for so long I can hardly remember how the crisp pages felt or the satisfaction of the left side of the book becoming heavier with pages than the right side.

I decide to check out the market place and see if they have anything interesting. It's set in between to buildings in a courtyard that is guarded by two rot iron gates. It's a fairly large space with a little seating area in the middle with a few shrubs that hint at leaves for spring. I think of home and how since it's farther south, it must be warmer, bursting with colour. I hope John's doing better and that Michael is taking care of him. I hope they don't miss me too much. I wander through the market for a few minutes, gazing at the vendors. Some sell practical things like travelling satchels, maps, dried meats, leather goods. A pair of light blue coloured gloves catch my eye. They're soft and dainty, but look tough enough for all the riding I'll be doing. It's getting colder now, the farther north we go, I tell myself to convince myself to buy the gloves. I buy them on impulse, happy that they aren't too expensive, especially for such fine gloves. I ask the vendor if there are any merchants that sell books around and he points me in the direction of one near the back of the courtyard, though he warns that this merchant sells only books from Earth. I almost laugh at the coincidence. Soon the laughter turns into sheer joy as I verify that the books indeed are from Earth. The classics are all here. I nearly cry for joy when I find a copy of Pride and Prejudice. The vendor, a thin, wiry man looks at me as if I've lost my mind when I clutch it to my chest.

"I take it you know a fair deal about Earth?" he asks with a grin on his face.

I shrug. "I suppose you could say that." I flip through the pages of the book, touching the words softly, lovingly.

"You're not from these parts then?" he inquires. I shake my head and tell him I'm just passing through this town.

"Oh, where you headed, miss?"

"North, very far," I tell him. "To the Northern Sea, in fact."

"That's quite a ways from here," he says. "What's the occasion?"

"My brother," I tell him thoughtfully. "I'm looking for my brother. He went looking for his father, and now he's gotten lost."

The vendor nods his head, understanding. "Going to the very edge of the realm for your brother. What a good sister you are," he says, smiling. I almost laugh. I've crossed realms for Neal. There isn't anything I wouldn't do for my brothers. "I hope you aren't travelling alone, miss?"

I shake my head. "No, I'm travelling with my husband." The words taste bitter in my mouth. I turn the book over and see the price tag, and my jaw nearly falls off. "Twenty silver pieces for these book."

The vendor nods. "Those are hard to find, miss. I have to cross realms for all of these." I look at the book, disappointed. It's far too expensive. I need to think about the money-

Then I stop myself. I have sacrificed everything for everyone, giving up my whole life. And now I'm travelling with my mortal enemy and I won't allow myself a book that will help me feel less homesick? I've never been a selfish person, but I'm also not one to throw away good things in my life. I read into my coin purse and drop the money in the vendors hand. "You drive a hard bargain," I tell him. He smiles at me taking the coins.

I eat dinner in the small cafe that I saw on the way in, since that I won't be lonely now that I have my books. It feels like I've regained a part of myself in it. I remember Lizzy and her strength and I feel myself growing stronger from her. I feel like I'm getting to finally be me again. This euphoria accompanied by tea and cookies almost feels like heaven. I even buy a few to take back to the inn with me, to stay up late reading.

When I get back to the hotel, my heart feels so light I feel I might fly away. I take a long luxurious bath and then snuggle into the downy sheets of the bed and read every page with hunger. Peter doesn't come back and I don't care. I've got my books.

I realize that I must have fallen asleep while reading because I'm suddenly woken up by a loud knocking at the door. I have enough time to get up and look out the window to see it's pitch black outside, easily the middle of the night and to also see that Peter's bed is still empty. I throw on my robe and open the door bleary-eyed to find the innkeeper holding a bloody, battered and very drunk Peter by the collar. I let out an audible gasp, seeing the shape he's in.

"This mess yours?" the innkeeper demands, shaking Peter. Peter seems almost giddy. He just grins at me and winks. I blink a few times to check if I'm really seeing Peter grin at me without malice.

"Yes, he is," I tell him. "I-um-where did you find him? Do you know what happened?"

"I was just having some fun, Wendy," Peter slurs out. "There's nothing wrong with that." Peter laughs at himself, seemingly unaware that the innkeeper looks as if he's going to contribute to Peter's beating. Peter turns to the innkeeper and pinches his cheek. "This guy needs to loosen up! Have some fun!"

The innkeeper drops Peter and shoves him towards me. Peter crashes into me, tackling me into a hug. He hangs onto my shoulder, not quite sure how to position his drunken limbs. I try and hold him up. He reeks of alcohol and his face is cut up everywhere, his lip bleeding and a nasty black eye starting to form. I push away his shaggy hair and find a long cut running along his hairline.

"You best keep your man in check, miss," the innkeeper tells me. "This one nearly started a riot down at the pub, with a bunch of merchants. Had been drinking himself silly since this afternoon. Once he got kicked out, decided to bring the fight into the lobby downstairs." I shake my head. I should have interfered with Peter earlier before he got into this self-destructive behaviour.

"I'm so sorry, sir," I tell him as sincerely as possible. At this Peter turns around and grins widely at the innkeeper.

"But _I'm_ not," he tells the man. "You just have a stick up your ass. You should take it out. Or keep it… If you're into that." The innkeepers face goes red at this and Pan giggles like a little girl. I could just die of embarrassment right now.

The innkeeper turns to me. "You'll be paying for all the damages downstairs-" Damages!? "-and you best be out of here by morning. I don't want to see this sorry excuse for a man in my inn again," he warns and with that he turns on his heel and walks down the hall, towards his own quarters I assume. I shut the door with one hand and I try and keep Peter upright with the other.

I let out a sigh. "Peter, what have you done now?" I ask. In Neverland, Peter and the boys made their own moonshine. It was a very popular drink among all the Lost Boys. I know Peter liked the stuff enough to get tipsy on it, putting himself in a rather nice mood, but never let himself go this far. I've never seen him so intoxicated. However, I have seen him more bruised and battered, which is a relief. I don't have enough supplies to take him back from the brink.

I help Peter hobble over to his bed, which he immediately collapses on. I rummage through my things to find my sad little collection of medical supplies, mostly made up of some sterile bandages, scissors, hard alcohol as a disinfectant, a surgical needle and thread. The one thing I miss about Neverland was the lovely leather doctor's bag I had back there. I'm not sure where Peter got any of the supplies, but it was a lifesaver and I cherished it.

After getting the supplies together, I go into the bathroom, bringing back two bowls of both cool and warm water as well as a large glass of water for Peter. I flip him over and manage to get him to sit up long enough to take a few gulps of water. Sitting beside him, I wet a towel and begin to wipe away the dirt and grime in all Peter's cuts. I reach up and tilt his face towards me, cleaning out a long scrape across his cheek, that looks as if his face has been dragged along a cobblestone road.

"This is no fun, Wendy," he says, pushing the towel away.

"And getting into a fight was?" I question him, reaching again for his cheek. He shrugs off my comment, and lets me clean his face. He watches me carefully, his blue eyes watery from the alcohol and much less icy and terrifying than usual. I soon move onto the cut just below his hairline. I cluck my tongue when I see it. "This is going to need stitches, Peter."

"Stitches won't fix anything," he pouts out.

"Yes, they will. They'll keep this from getting infected and it won't scar nearly as much," I tell him, calmly, trying to reason with him. I reach around, picking up the surgical needle and thread. I detach the thimble from my necklace and move towards his face. He flinches away.

"I don't want them," he tells me firmly. He crosses his arms over his chest and refuses to look at me, like a petulant little child.

"It doesn't matter, you're getting them," I say. "It'll help you a lot." I take his chin firmly in my hand and guide his face towards mine so that I have a better view of the cut. It's just a tiny bit shorter than my ring finger, and barely an inch wide. It's nothing I haven't seen before. But as I tilt his head forward, I notice something catch the light. "Peter, what was this cut with?"

Peter shrugs. "The bottle that held a very nice pale ale. However, I'm more a fan of the dark ales. I think it better suits my dark and evil soul," he quips. I can't believe how drunk he is and how many jokes he's making. I've never seen him quite like this.

"I need you to move back to the head of the bed, closer to the lamp," I instruct him, trying to ignore his quips. Peter grumbles and does so while I go back to my bag and quickly pull out a pair of tweezers. I tilt his face up, and gingerly push his hair back. I examine the cut thoroughly, trying to figure out just how much glass is in there before I start tweezing it out.

"Where'd your thimble necklace go, Wendy?" Peter slurs.

"I'm using the thimble right now, Peter," I tell him. I squint my eyes and try and look more closely at the wound. The fresh blood is also catching the light, and I can't tell the different between the light catching the blood or the glass. I sigh exasperatedly. "I need more medical supplies," I say almost to myself. "If I just had a syringe, I could flush this out." I just shake my head and begin to pull out the pieces that I know are glass.

"We can't have everything, can we?" Peter sighs. He winces as I pull out a rather large shard. "You want a syringe, I want to keep drinking." He laughs almost to himself.

"Drinking was a wonderful idea for you, wasn't it?" I scold. I tilt his head closer to the light, my hand brushing along the stubble that's gone far past five o'clock. "I've never seen you this inebriated. I don't know what atrocity you're trying to drown out, but if you could deal with it in a less self-destructive manner, that would be great."

"I'll deal with it anyway I want!" Peter barks out. He jerks back his head, and I lose my grip on one of the shards. I'm not sure whether it's still in there or not. He grabs the tweezers out of my hand and stalks off, almost tripping over his feet, towards the washroom. "I don't want your help anymore, Wendy." He slams the door behind him.

I swear under my breath. I go to the door, jiggling the handle. "Peter, if you try to take that glass out on your own, you're only going to hurt yourself even more!" I warn him through the door.

"Why is that an issue?" he slurs through the door. "What's wrong with me getting hurt? I deserve to be hurt, right?"

I lean my head against the door. This has got to be about what he saw when he touched the cloak. I hadn't thought anything could upset him like this. Peter seems untouchable. "Peter," I say, with less anger this time. "What's this about? Hm?"

"Mind your own damn business, bird!" he yells through the door.

"You've made it my business," I tell him.

"These are such tiny fucking things man. Tiny metal arms. How do you even use them?" Peter wonders aloud to the tweezers. "Do you think they want more than arms? Like maybe legs or something?" Then there's silence for a few seconds. I can just imagine him, drunkenly trying to find the tiny shards in his cut. He's going to poke his eye out or something. Then suddenly I hear his curse profusely and then I hear metal clattering on the sink and then a slightly stressed giggle. "Whoops!" Peter laughs out. "How attached were you to those tweezers?"

I slam my hand against the door. "Damn it, Pan! Did you drop those down the drain?" I rage. "Those were my only pair! Now how am I supposed to get that glass out?" I can't believe he managed to lose them down the drain.

"They're probably still stuck in the drain," Peter assures. "I can get them out."

"Don't you dare take the sink apart, you silly boy! You've already caused enough damage to this inn. You don't know how to take apart a sink. You're drunk," I try and reason with him. I jiggle the handle some more and slam my fist against the door without success.

"I'm drunk now but in the morning I'll be sober," he slurs to me through the door. I can hear the metal clang on the sink. "You're pretty now but in the morning, you'll _still_ be pretty."

My eyes bulge open. "What did you just say?"

"I said you'll still be shitty!" Pan stammers, backtracking. "You're shitty!" A pause. "Did that help you forget about me taking apart the sink?"

"No!"

"Damn it." Another pause. "Well, I've almost got it open. Just one more twist that way and then another and-" And then all I can hear is an explosion of water and metal hitting metal, porcelain and human flesh. I hear Peter curse and grunt as he's presumably sprayed with water from the sink. "Oh, this water does not smell good," Pan slurs. "But on the bright side, I got the tweezers back." I let out a sigh of relief before demanding to be let in. "Just a moment, Wendy. Let me rest."

"No! Don't you dare drunkenly pass out on that dirty floor," I warn him. I continue to whack on the door before I hear Peter mutter something out. "What did you just say?"

"I said I hadn't thought about her in a long time," he slurs. "My mother." I hear him let out a long sigh. "I saw her when I touched the cloak. I saw her from my life." I let up on to slamming on the door to listen to him. "I forgot how beautiful she was, her soft smile and mane of black hair, the way she always smelled of vanilla and the sound of the rustle of her skirts." I hold my breath. His voice sounds so sad and soft. "She was always laughing, and playing with me. She always patched me up after I'd get into fights with the other children. I wasn't well-liked by any of them, you know. Hard to believe now since everyone loves me," he says bitterly. "I was just an awkward, scrawny little boy. But she'd hold me and tell me I was good, that one day I'd have friends." He laughs. "She was my best friend. But then one day, she caught a fever. And then, my best friend was gone." He lets out a sad sigh.

"I tried to be good for her, after that. I would try and help Father and the servants. But I was clumsy and got angry easily when things didn't go the right way. The servants saw me as a menace and scolded me profusely and Father… well, Father liked to use his fists instead of his words, especially when he drank, which was often after she died. Like father, like son, I suppose. Anyway, while my father turned into a drunken mess, Rumple and I were raised by the servants. Everyone liked Rumple. He was cheerful and young and didn't get in the way. He was the favourite child. But soon that couldn't even ward off my father's own terrible habits. He drank away all out money and then died of alcohol poisoning. He's hardly even worth mentioning.

"After that, the servants took us in, albeit reluctantly. I'm sure they would have adopted Rumple had it just been him, but then there was tiresome old me. They told me I had to earn my keep, so I dropped out of school and began hunting, scavenging really. If I was especially desperate, I would help one of the big thieves in town rob mansions. Overnight, I lost my childhood, had to become a provider, thrust into an adulthood I didn't want. I sold all I could to pay back the servants, but whatever I gave them never seemed to be enough. Anyway, one day, after coming home, pockets finally loaded with a decent amount of money, I went straight to bed. The servants were already asleep, so I'd give them the money in the morning. Rumple, however, was wide awake. He'd been begging us all for this silly little trinket he'd seen in town. Much too expensive for any of us to buy for him. He whined for it, throwing tantrums and the like. While I slept, he stole the money and went to town to buy the toy. In the morning, when I awoke, the money was gone and the servants told me that that was the last straw, not giving them the money. So we were kicked out. And of course, Rumple blamed me. If I had been a better son, Father wouldn't have drank himself away, if I had been a better provider, I wouldn't have gotten us kicked out. All this childish nonsense. He told me that Mother would have been disappointed in me… That was the final straw, I told him I no longer wanted to be his brother, that he was on his own. So I left him, alone in the forest. Soon, I stumbled upon Neverland and saw it as an opportunity to have eternal friends like Mother had promised. I recruited boys, and somewhere along the way, I became a king. And from there, my kingdom became more and more violent, with me at the centre." He lets out a big sigh. "And from there you know the rest. Now, you know everything, bird."

I let out a breath before saying, "So this is your roundabout way of telling me you regret what you've done?"

Pan lets out a harsh laugh. "No." Then a pause. "I don't know… It's just… I don't know… Do you think she would have really been disappointed in me? For all I've done? Do you think she could still love me?"

"Who?"

"My mother."

The frown on my face softens. "Oh, Peter," I say quietly to the door. I shake my head. "I don't think you can ever stop a mother from loving her child. I think she'd always love you. No matter how many bad things you've done."

"You think so?" He sounds tired now, having told me his life's story.

"Yes, I know so," I tell him. "Now, can you let me in?" I see a twinkle of green magic and the lock clicks open. I swing open the door, to find Peter lying on the floor in a puddle, bits of piping scatter around the floor, tweezers in hand, soaking wet, his face still covered in blood. I put my hands on my hips. "I suppose I'm cleaning all this up?" Before I can finish my sentence, the mess has seemingly disappeared. "Could you have done that with the tweezers?"

"I'm sobering up now," he says, his face strategically turned away from me.

"Why do I not believe that?" I quickly grab the tweezers from him and quickly run back to get the other various medical supplies. I kneel down beside Peter, and gently take his head into my lap. He still keeps his face facing away from me. I try and turn his head towards the light but he holds firm. His jaw is set firm. I crane my neck over him, to see his face. His eyes are red and puffy and the tears that he's cried had made streak marks through the blood. My heart squeezes a tiny bit, not for Peter himself, but not the child who felt unloved. I don't think anyone, man or monster, should be subjected to that. "Peter, have you been crying?"

"Mind your own damn business, Wendy," he grinds out. I reach for a dry cloth and dip it in the warm water. I carefully wipe away the blood and tears, making sure to be as gentle as possible.

"I miss my mother, too," I offer.

"I almost forgot about her," he says bitterly. "Who forgets their mother?"

"Someone who's lost, who feels unloved, perhaps," I muse. "But never worry, mothers never forget, Peter. They're _always_ there." At this, Peter begins to weep, quietly at first and then it grows into sobs that shake his whole body. He turns over and buries his face in my lap, crying uncontrollably. At first, I'm surprised that he'd even let himself cry in front of me, but then I think about how weary he seems, how he seems so tired it seeps down into his soul. Perhaps he feels bad for forgetting his mother, for forgetting to be good. Maybe he's upset over never getting the friends she promised. Whatever the reason, it makes sense. I'm surprised again when I begin to rub calming circles over his back and comb his hair. I don't say anything. I just sit there, comforting him. I feel as if I'm having an out of body experience, sitting here, comforting Peter. But it does't even feel like him. This young man weeping in my lap seems like a completely different person than the one I've known up until this point.

Soon, he quiets and lets me return to picking out the shards of glass- only after I've run the tweezers through a candle's fire to sanitize them- and the stitching up his cut. Finally, I wipe off his face again. He's going to have a nasty headache in the morning and a rather painful black eye, but there's nothing I can do for those. I help him up off the floor, help him change out of his dirty street clothes and into night clothes. I help him ease into bed and turn off the light. I slip into bed and almost fall asleep immediately, only to be stopped by Peter's faint, still-drunk whisper. "Bird, what you've done tonight- listen to me, help me- is that what friends do?"

The thought hadn't occurred to me, but he's right. "Yes, I suppose so."

"Then… thank you… for being my friend, if only for tonight," he says. I'm so surprised that he's thanking me, I almost have a heart attack.

"You're welcome, Peter. Good night."

"Good night. Sleep well." But I don't, not for a while at least. Peter's mother was right. He did, in a way, finally get a friend, if only for one night. If she was right about that, could she be right about Peter being good? The question hangs in my head until sleep finally pulls me under.


	29. Irredeemable

I wake up slowly in the morning, pulling myself from a comfortable sleep. I stretch out in bed, feeling content and pleased for a reason I can't seem to recall. Then it hits me. I remember now, Peter's story, the tweezers, the damages downstairs, him crying in my lap.

I massage my forehead, trying to rub away the memories. I've lost the contented feeling and now all I'm left with is… shame. I'm ashamed I let myself comfort him, ashamed I empathized with him, ashamed I felt for him, ashamed I took care of him. I groan. He's been a great pain in my life, the wedge between me and my family. I can't let him play me. He won't trick me into being kind to him because that's simply what I am, even in spite of all he's done to me. I won't. I can't. I won't let myself even try to be good to him. I've come too far to be drawn back.

I push myself up in bed and look over at Peter. He's sprawled in his bed, his face buried in the pillows, sheets wrapped around his long legs. The white of the sheets makes his dark hair stand out. He snores softly, his mouth open a slight bit. He doesn't look like an evil mastermind from here. I shake myself. "Don't do that, Wendy," I scold. I slip out of bed and into the washroom to begin washing up for the day. "Don't be good, for once in your life. Don't." I nod to myself in the mirror, agreeing. I mean, what would Michael, Neal and John say if I told them about last night? They'd be so disappointed in me, so scared, so confused.

"But, Wendy," they'd say. "After all he's done? You just… held him, comforted him? Why would you do such a thing?"

I wouldn't have an answer for them, I'd just stand before the family that had been ripped apart, flung across realms and centuries all for Pan's childish whims and tell them that I had somehow found it in my heart to feel for him. They'd look disappointed, their faces dropping.

"All these years, and she's still too kind, too naive, too childish," they'd say to each other behind my back. They'd shake their heads and cluck their tongues, both disappointed and worried for me. "See how she falls into the same old routine? Pan offers to help her find her brother but with some ulterior motive that will once again end up hurting her. What a silly, silly girl." I look up into the mirror and meet my own eyes, large and brown.

"Silly, silly girl," I tell my refection. My reflection stares back at me, eyes wide and kind, wild curly hair that won't decide if it's brown or blond, a firm mouth, a dusting of freckles across my nose and cheeks. I push my hair back to reveal the scar just under my hairline, from when just after Neal left and I feel down the stairs while sleep walking. "He caused this," I tell my reflection. "He caused this and he wasn't even there. You can't let yourself be kind. He never is and never will be to you." I nod fiercely at the mirror. My reflection seems to agree. "Don't be good," I say, pointing a finger at my reflection. Then I turn and begin to finish washing up, quickly washing my face, brushing my teeth, struggling to comb through my tangles before slipping on a light blue dress and placing my hair in a braid, giving up with the knots. Before exiting the washroom, I look back in the mirror and nod at my reflection, determined to stand firm.

I pack up quickly while Peter sleeps. He's going to be miserable the whole ride. He chose possibly one of the worst days to have a hangover. It's begun to rain, steadily now, coming in from the north. Our ride is a sold ten hours of riding. We'll be getting to the mansion the next day. It's going to be hell. I pick up the map on the table that has our journey sketched out, folding it neatly into the large pockets of my dress. I put on my cloak and new riding gloves, marvelling at the detail, the embroidery as well as the fact that they are fur-lined.

After checking that everything is set, I go over to Peter's bed and shake his sleeping form. He grumbles and waves off my hand. I shake him more forcefully and this time he rolls over, revealing the nasty black eye that's formed overnight. It pains me just to look at it. Peter opens his eyes and stares at me, blearily. "Get up, Pan. We've got to leave," I tell him.

He raises an eyebrow and grins. "Good morning to you too, bird, but I'd like you to know I prefer the afternoon." He yawns and begins to turn over but I grab him by the shoulder.

"Oh no, you don't," I tell him. "We are leaving in half an hour. Get up and get dressed. We've got a long day of riding."

Peter blinks a few times before shaking his head. "I don't think you quite understand. I've got a terrible headache today," he says. He pulls the covers over his head and lies still for a few moments.

I let out a huff. "Are you still drunk?" Peter lets out a muffle 'no'. "Well, then, get up. I haven't got time for this. The innkeeper is already upset with you for the damages you made last night. I'm going to go pay him and when I come back, you better be up and ready to go," I tell the lumpy form under the sheets. I feel like smacking him. He caused me all this inconvenience last night and now this morning, too. I shake my head and quickly leave the room.

I pay the innkeeper 's wife handsomely for their troubles, which become apparent as soon as I come down the stairs. The large candelabra, which looked sturdy with its iron arms, is not lying off to side of the lobby. I can see the dent in the hardwood floor that its impact must have made. I can't begin to even imagine how Peter, so completely drunk, would have managed to do that.

"I'm so sorry, ma'am," I tell her as she counts the cash.

"Oh, it's not your fault, dearie. It's that wild thing you call a husband." She looks up from her papers and smiles. "He best be counting his lucky stars to have you," she says reaching to pat my hand. Her touch is warm and motherly, comforting almost. Her face is crinkled in all the right places and her brown hair is streaked with silver. "You know, I once heard of a man who was so disliked by everyone, no one would even speak with him. But he had a wife who was just so wonderful. She helped him to find his way, helped him to be good and likeable." She nods at me knowingly. "It happens to those irredeemable men, you know," she tells me, nodding as if she knows exactly what my situation is. "They just find that one person who helps to bring out the good, to make them worthy of redemption. They find their redemption in that person. Not so much as to say that that person's responsible for making them good, but that they get the ball rolling, you know?" I shake my head. For some reason, her words make me angry, indignant even that she could even try and extrapolate what little she knows about me, about Peter and turn it into this love story about redemption and goodness. Why would she ever think this an appropriate thing to say to anyone?

"No, I don't know," I tell her harshly. "People make their own good, on their own. No one's responsible for making them good." I know it's rude, but her words have shaken me.

"I'm sorry for offending you, miss," the woman says. "But I think you misunderstand. Nothing is that black and white. Some need help, you see. being good doesn't always come natural to people. For others, it does though, and they should try and look past the faults to see the potential." She smiles. "You obviously have, with your husband." I take a deep breath, trying to control myself enough not to shout at her, not to scream at the top of my lungs that that would never, ever happen with me and Pan. He's bad to the core, he's evil and mean and emotionless. There is not potential there, for me to see. Not even after last night. His wish to be his mother's perfect son doesn't change anything. It can't. And I refuse to believe that Pan can be good, ever. It's impossible.

I'm about to open my mouth to retort this back to her, having given up control over myself when Peter interrupts us, placing his hand on the small of my back. I turn around, surprised to see him down here, loaded up with all our bags, looking perfectly normal, save the black eye and the cuts all along his face. I feel like screaming at both of them. Peter for just being Peter and this lady for insinuating that I can see any small amount of good in him. He smiles down at me with fake sweetness. "Don't look so surprised, bird," he says, kindly. "I can be useful." He cracks a grin at the innkeeper's wife and she smiles back at him, apparently forgetting that he brought down an entire chandelier last night. "Sorry again about this whole mess. I hope I haven't caused too much trouble." It takes all my self-control not to roll my eyes at this. "Anyway, we're off. Thank you for the stay." I give her a tight smile before Peter turns me around and walks me out the door.

Once we get to the stables, he grins at me almost appreciatively. "You looked as if you were about to climb over that counter and start pummelling the woman," he laughs. "What in the world was she talking to you about?"

"Nothing," I say shortly. "I'm not upset about it." I finishing strapping down the bag onto Ash and swing myself up onto him. He whinnies at me, almost as if he is calling me out on my lie. I run my hand through his dark mane, calming him. I flip my hood up and take him out of the stables into the rain that's pouring down in sheets. I wait impatiently for Peter. I'm anxious to just keep moving and putting more distance between myself, the innkeeper's wife and last night.

Finally, he emerges. Even with his hood up, I can tell that his mock kindness inside took a lot of effort and its drained him. Today is going to be a tough day for him. "Are you going to be able to navigate today?" I ask.

He shrugs and doesn't answer me, trotting Samson in front of me. I leave the question hanging. For the first few miles, I actually begin to believe that he is possibly well enough to navigate, until he practically jumps off Samson and vomits on the side of the road. I restrain myself from helping him. _Don't be good, Wendy,_ I think to myself. It's almost painful, not hopping down to help him. I manage to stay still long enough for him to finish. He stands up, looking almost green. He wipes his hand on the back of his mouth and swings himself up onto Samson.

"Thanks for the help, bird," Peter says over his shoulder. I can hardly make it out over the din of the rain.

"It's not my responsibility to be taking care of you," I grind out. All we are is travelling companions, this is a business deal. I'm angry with myself for even letting the beginnings of a thaw in our relationship start. He's done this before with the pleasantries and the kindness. And this time I know how bad he is and yet I continue to help him. There's nothing to redeem in him, no goodness at all. I must have been delusional last night to think otherwise.

Peter whips his head around, a look of surprise evident on his face which is quickly swallowed up by anger. He turns Samson around so that both horses are facing each other in the middle of the road, the rain falling down in sheets around us. He raises his eyebrows at me, tauntingly, though the effect is somewhat diminished by the paleness of his skin and his black eye.

"I hope you didn't get that impression last night," I tell him coldly. The words come out harsh and have the desired effect on Peter, making him stone-cold and rigid, but somehow it doesn't feel right, as if I don't mean it.

"No, I didn't at all," Peter says. "I was drunk. I hardly remember last night." His words too come out harsh and cold, but I have a sneaking suspicion he doesn't believe them either.

I straighten. "Good, I don't think you would have been impressed with the Peter, who cried, drunk on the bathroom floor in a puddle of water from the sink," I grind out. Peter's jaw clenches and his eyes dart quickly away, looking almost embarrassed, ashamed. He abruptly turns Samson around, trots forward a few paces and then turns him around again, Peter's hood falling off in the process.

"Fuck it," he barks out. "I do remember and I may have been the one to cry drunk on the floor, but you were the one who held me!" He looks wildly appalled with himself for a second, having said those words, but seems too angry to stop. "Just because you feel conflicted about that doesn't mean you can't take it out on me!"

"Yes, it does!" I yell back. "I can do whatever the hell I want. You've never shown me any kindness, never helped me-"

"What the hell do you think this is?" Peter asks, waving his hand wildly around. His hair is now plastered to his forehead, rain streaming down his face.

"This is a means to an end for you, Pan," I retort. "Don't lie to me. This has never been anything other than a business deal. I'm not your friend. I never will be. We're both trying to get something from the other. That's it!"

Peter sputters for a moment. "You really think that?" he asks, his voice losing its anger.

"What else would it ever be? We yell and we fight all the time. You hardly think anything of me and I think you're irredeemable," I explain furiously.

"Last night-"

"I don't know what happened last night," I interrupt. "All I know is it won't happen again."

Peter's jaw hardens. His eyes become steely and his face loses all its expression. In Neverland, that was a sure sign that Peter was done with any argument. This was his losing face. He turns Samson around once again and begins to gallop on ahead of me, picking up his pace until he's racing away from me. He only comes to an abrupt stop when an arrow strikes him in the shoulder, knocking him off the horse.

I scream.


	30. Interrogation

I scream.

I jump off of Ash before I know it and bolt over to Peter. So much for my 'don't-be-good' plan. I reach Peter almost instantly and flip him over. Examining him, I find that the arrow simply grazed his shoulder, mostly get caught up in his cloak. It's hardly made a scratch, but I suppose the fall from Samson is what's left Peter dazed. His eyes don't seem to focus on anything in particular. "Where the fuck did that come from?" he demands, slurring his words.

Ah, yes. A very valid and important question. One that I obviously did not think about before running over to Peter and certain danger. However, I don't have to wait long to answer the questions, because the answer comes in the form of burly men clad in fine clothes appearing from the tree line and ahead from the bend in road. They come upon Peter and me quickly, roughly tying our hands and feet together. They have us kneel on the side of the road in the pouring rain as they circle us like a group of vultures. They all glare down at us with hunger in their eyes.

Peter's still rather dazed and offers up no explanation or resistance, even when they slap a leather cuff on his forearm. This cuff looks very similar to the other that Gold tried to use on Pan before he enacted the curse. That one didn't work, but the pit in my stomach tells me this one will. This also means that we've no way out of this.

"What's the meaning of this?" I demand. The men all look to each other, chuckling as if they're in on some joke I'm not privy to. "Tell me!"

One man, tall with a perfectly coiffed black beard, steps out of line and kneels down to me. He tilts my chin up and grins maliciously down at me. "No need to shout, Ms. Darling," he sneers. His breath smells of alcohol. "This will all be over quickly."

My eyes widen. "How do you know my name?"

The man laughs and stands up. He meanders over to Peter, gently placing his hand on his head before violently ripping it back. Peter cries out. The man laughs again. "Well, your dear friend, Peter Pan, made sure to tell us everything about you and your little journey," he tells me.

"What? What do you mean? I don't understand," I almost yell in frustration. The man holds Peter's head in place and knees him in the face. Peter crumples next to me. "No! Don't hurt him!"

The man simply raises his eyebrow at me and kicks Peter in the ribs. "What don't you tell her, Pan? The little lady seems confused," he commands.

Peter groans in the muddy ground, the rain pounding down onto his black. "They're the merchants I got into a fight with last night," Peter admits. "I told them everything."

"Goddammit, Pan," I curse. Of course, he did. He told me his life's story last night. Why the hell wouldn't he tell everyone else about everything that's going on in his life right now?

Peter lifts his head just enough so I can see his black eye and bloody nose. He looks so broken. "I'm sorry, Wendy," he apologizes. My heart catches in my throat, clogged up with both pity and anger.

"Stop wallowing," the man says. He pulls Peter up into a kneeling position again. Peter hangs his head, letting the rain pour over him. "You've gone soft, you spineless bastard." Peter doesn't reply.

"What do you want with him?" I demand. "You already beat him senseless last night. This seems a waste of energy to follow him just to beat him up again."

The group laughs again, as if about some joke I still don't understand. "This ain't about a fight, missy," one man with a thick, curly beard warns. "You've got something we want."

My stomach drops. I've got a terrible feeling I know exactly what they want. "And what's that?"

The man with the black beard smiles down at me. "We think you already know, Ms. Darling, since it is yours after all." He looks around the group, seeing if he has their full attention. "We want the second star to the right." I can't believe Pan would be so stupid.

"I don't have it," I lie immediately.

The man with the brown beard slaps me so hard I feel my teeth rattle around in my skull.

"Don't fucking touch her!" I heard Peter yell somewhere in the distance.

Ignoring Pan, the man yanks my hair back and growls into my face. "Don't lie to us, you little bitch. We know you've got it." I glare back at him defiantly and prepare myself for another smarting slap across the face when he's abruptly yanked back by the man with the black beard.

"Are you an idiot, Gordon?" the man with the black beard demands. "You think we'll get her to talk that way?" The man with the black beard's eyes quickly dart back to me. "She's Pan's right hand." I nearly laugh at this. "You think we'll get anything out of her this way?"

Gordon shoves the man. "Can it, Nathan. I'll do what I see fit. You aren't in charge here."

Nathan scoffs. "Neither are you!" The other men look on in fascination, some of them nodding with Nathan and other's seeming to side with Gordon. I think that I could use this dynamic to my advantage. "I know how to get the information out of her," Nathan sneers.

"Give me a few minutes with the girl," Gordon commands. "I actually know how to get the information out of her." Nathan glares at Gordon before relinquishing the command to him, warning that he has fifteen minutes.

Gordon returns to me. "You're going to tell me where the star is or I'll make you see stars," he promises and I don't doubt him.

"You touch her, Gordon, and you will wish you were dead," Peter warns him. "Don't you touch a single hair on her head."

Gordon shrugs, the rain running down his face and body. "Should have thought about that before you blabbed to us." With that, Gordon swings his meaty hand and knocks me onto the ground. I land facedown with a mouthful of mud. Gordon pulls me up by the hood of my cloak. "Where's the star?"

"I think you've knocked its location right out of me," I grind out. Gordon's face bunches up into an intricate maze of angry wrinkles and thick eyebrows. In a flash, he's hit me in the rubs and I double over, coughing and sputtering on the ground while Peter rages on, cursing Gordon's name. Soon, a boot comes and kicks me in the stomach. I'm about to quip that all I'll be coughing up is vomit, not information, but then I actually vomit and rethink just how funny my comment would be.

Gordon pulls me up by my hair and demands again to tell him where the star is. Again, I refuse, and again, he tries to use force to get the answer out of me. He continues on with this, with so much violence and force, that I almost black out from the pain. I almost stop hearing Peter's constant threats and eventually pleads for Gordon to stop. Then, he does. I'm almost elated before I realize that he's now brandishing a knife.

"Okay, my time's almost up, you little bitch," he tells me. "It's time to tell me where the star is or else I'm going to start slicing you up." At this, I almost give up the location of the star. I'm not sure I'm willing to die for the star, but when I think of its importance in the grand scheme of things, how much power it holds, how many lives can be destroyed with it, I decide that I am. "Last chance, missy," Gordon offers, waggling the knife at me. I shake my head solemnly, casting out my fears and Peter's incessant shouting and cursing and begging.

Gordon shakes his head and prepares to plunge his knife into me. Then it all happens so fast, I hardly realize it's even happened. As Gordon swings his knife, Peter manages to hurl himself in front of me, trying to protect me from the stabbing. At the same time, however, Nathan appears from the line of onlookers at effectively knocks the knife out of Gordon's hands. The knife flies out of his hands and lands behind me in a large puddle, right next to my bound feet. Peter lands right in front of me, his body slamming to the ground, a strangled 'no' caught in his throat.

I look down at Peter, completely shocked. He just put my life before his. He sacrificed himself for me. Never had I ever thought that Peter was ever capable of trying to save and protect me, let alone actually act on the impulse. I look down at him, heart in my throat, hardly believing my eyes. The urge to reach out and touch his face, to wipe the rain and blood and grime away, comes over me. It would feel natural and right doing it. Then I immediately pull myself back, constrained both by my tied-up hands and by the fact that I've declared not to show him kindness.

Peter looks at me, his eyes filled with relief. His breathing comes in short ragged breaths. The rain washes away any blood from his face. He looks almost pure.

In front of us, Nathan and Gordon argue on relentlessly. Both men push and shove as the rest of the onlookers take their own stances, while watching the two warring co-leaders argue. The wild and extremely stupid plan that was just beginning in my mind before the beatings finally solidifies and I know exactly what to do. I've just got to play them the right way. But before I can start anything, Nathan shoves Gordon aside and picks Peter off the ground.

He turns back to Gordon. "You think she gives a damn what happens to her?" he demands. "It's Pan she really cares about. He's the way to make her talk."

"I don't care about him," I correct. The words feel like a lie for some reason. Nathan and Gordon both look at each other, obviously not believing me.

"Stop lying," Nathan tells me. "You're just wasting time." He grabs onto Peter's hair and pulls his head back. Peter grinds his teeth, obviously in pain and my heart squeezes. "Now, you're going to tell us where the star is or Pan's going to beaten so brutally you'll feel it."

"Don't tell them anything, bird," Peter tells me through gritted teeth. "It doesn't matter how much they hurt me, you keep it safe." I take a deep breath and try and give some semblance of a reassuring look to Peter, hopefully communicating that I have a plan.

"Last chance," Nathan warns. I hold my breath, the plan is now or never. Nathan reels back his hand and punches Peter in the stomach with so much force that I've no idea how he isn't sent flying backwards. I scream. Peter doubles over, coughing and spluttering and vomits on the ground. Nathan grabs him by the collar and hits him across the face I'm afraid Peter's skull will crack. He then takes Peter's head and slams it into the ground, grinding it down into the mud.

"No! Stop please! Don't hurt him!" I cry. Waiting was a part of my plan, but I can't stand it. I can't stand to see Peter be hurt like this, against all of my better judgement. Nathan holds Peter's head down still, waiting for me to stay the words. I swing back and sit down onto my knees, my hands searching. Finally, I grab it. "Please don't hurt him anymore," I beg. "You can have the star, just please don't hurt him." Nathan smiles, showing off two rows of crooked teeth. He picks Peter up and places him beside me.

Peter leans against me momentarily, his body impossibly warm in the cold rain. He looks up at me, still dazed, his black eye almost bruised shut. "Don't cry, bird," he tells me softly.

I reel back. "I'm not crying," I say, but even as I tell him this, I now begin to register the hot tears rolling down my face, mixing with the icy rain. "It's just the rain." I shouldn't be crying over this, I need to control myself.

"Alright," Gordon says, stepping out beside Nathan. "Enough with the cuddling, tell us where the star is." He folds his arms over his chest, trying to look menacing. Nathan, too, glowers down at me. _Alright, Wendy,_ I tell myself, _time to play with some male ego_.

"Alright," I tell them. "Who's the new owner?"

Nathan and Gordon both share completely confused looks. "What 'new owner'?" Nathan demands.

I feign shock. "Peter didn't tell you about the possession of the star?"

Gordon sputters. "He told us it can only be used by the owner, but it can be transferred. He said you transferred it to him, but that you still own it," Gordon explains. I'm not sure what he means by this, that I still 'own' it. "He said that it has to be given of free will." I suppose drunk Peter is no good at explaining things. "He kept calling it a heart, too." Apparently, drunk Peter doesn't know shapes either.

"Yes," I say, nodding as if this makes any sense. "The heart of Neverland is another name for it. Anyway, the transferring of ownership does not work the way Peter explained. What happened with us was simply an act of borrowing." Gordon and Nathan both look at me skeptically. "I'm straying from the point. I don't have time to map out the complexities of the star to you. The fact of the matter is that the star needs a set owner, a clearly defined one," I lie. I've know idea how the star really works or if this is even true.

"How about you just give it to us and we'll share it," Nathan says impatiently.

I shake my head. "No, no. You see the star does not really have a physical presence. Peter in his drunken state must not have explained this well. To access it, I either must call it for my own express use or to transfer ownership. It won't appear if I simply say 'Come here, I must give you away'." More lies I hope they don't figure out. "It's more complicated than that. It needs a set owner." I pause for effect. "So, who shall it be?"

"Well, it should be me," Nathan and Gordon both say in unison. Perfect.

I cluck my tongue. "You need to decide."

"I was the one who got her to crack," Nathan tells Gordon.

"Well, I was the one who came up with this plan in the first place," Gordon argues back. He pushes Nathan and Nathan pushes right back. They go back and forth for quite some time. However, the violence isn't building as much as I want to. The onlookers are simply standing awkwardly on the sidelines, obviously having chosen sides but not ready to act. Nathan and Gordon have yet to come to blows as well.

"Perhaps you should fight for it," I put in. They pause for a second and look at me. I fear for a moment that they've seen right through my plan, but then Nathan swings his arm while Gordon's not looking and hits him squarely in the chest. Gordon wheels back and begins to pummel Nathan. Both men topple over each other fighting for the upper hand, the rain pouring down on them relentlessly as they do to each other. The onlookers all have their hands on their swords, but are slow to move. I roll my eyes. "Have at it, men! Help your true leader!" Both sides immediately spring into action, completely forgetting about both Peter and me.

It's now or never.

I flip the knife that I grabbed and flick it upwards, hoping I'll cut the ropes and not myself. Miraculously, I do. I swipe at my feet and then I reach over to Peter, looking at me in shock. I rip of the cuff blocking his magic and cut his bonds both on his feet and hands. He jumps up, pulling me with him and before I know it, all the men are frozen in place, bound by Peter's green magic. He lifts them all far above our heads, looking furious. His hands tighten and them begin to obviously choke, their eyes bulging and mouths gasping for air.

I grab onto Peter's arm. "Don't kill them!"

Peter whips around to me. "Why the hell not? They hurt you!"

"You have the capacity to not murder!" I yell. "For once in your life, control yourself. You have the ability to not do evil all the time. You don't have to be a monster." As I say the words, they feel so much truer than everything I've promised myself to do, truer than him being a monster, than me restraining my kindness.

Peter looks down at me, his eyes wide and amazed. The rain pounds down onto us, deafening everything. Rain pours down my face, turning it icy cold. I feel frozen in place looking up at Peter. He looks so menacing and broken, blood all over his face with the black eye and a grimace. But, there's a softness to his eyes that make it impossible to look away. My hands grip his arm. I'm afraid he'll still kill them anyway.

Finally, he loosens his arms, dropping the men down. The men all land on their backs, completed confused. Before they can become aware of what's just happened, Peter's magic has fashioned hand cuffs out of all their swords and knives. He pushes them all against the tree line, circling them around a large tree. He wraps the roots of the trees around them, effectively trapping them. He stomps over to them, with me follow.

He grabs both Nathan and Gordon by the collar and shakes them. "You better count your lucky stars I've got Wendy," he growls. "Or else, you'd be scattered all along the road." He shoves them down again. "If you ever come looking for us again, you'll have hell to pay." His eyes dart to all of the merchants. "If you so much as think about ever touching Wendy again, you'll wish you had never even been born."

With that, he turns abruptly around and takes me by the hand, leading me away from the merchants. His hand is warm and solid in the rain. I let myself give into its comfort only for a second, but that second is perfect.


	31. Broken Souls

I throw up on the side of the road, crying and trembling. Peter holds back my hair and rubs my back until I finish. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, my mouth still bitter from the vomit and the blood. Peter offers me some water which I swish around and spit out. I had hoped that vomiting would help me dispel all the violence of the merchants, but it's no such luck. I just feel more hollow and tired than I did before. The adrenaline has rushed out of me just as fast as it came. I feel more broken and battered than I ever have before.

Peter guides me from the side of the road, leaning me against Ash. Both our horses faithfully skittered around close by, while the merchants dealt with us. Ash whinnies soothingly and leans his large warm head down onto mine. I feel a heavy blanket wrap around my shoulders, its warmth almost over powering my small, cold body. It almost keeps out the icy rain that has followed us the entire day, even now as the sky growers darker, casting blue light onto us.

"There's an inn not far from here," Peter says quietly. "We can probably make it there before sundown." I turn around and manage a glance at him. He looks worse off than he was last night. His lip is split and bleeding, he has gashes all over his face, his black eye looks even worse, his clothes are torn and he's covered in mud. He doesn't look nearly as menacing as he did when he was about to kill those men.

I just nod. I can't manage words right now. Not after all that's happened today, after all Peter's done. I'm amazed that he didn't kill those men and I'm even more surprised that he tried to save my life. The image of him jumping out in front of me replays in my mind. I never would have even dreamed of him doing something like that, something almost heroic. It's shaken me to the core. It makes me doubt everything that I know about him and everything I feel towards him. It makes me feel guilty for hating him, for not wanting to be kind. It's unfair. I'm trying to cast him as a villain, pushing out the thoughts of his mother, how he became the king of Neverland, how he tried to save me, of how he loved Gavin. It's getting harder and harder to hate him and it makes me angry. He kept me trapped on that godforsaken island for all those years. I know how cruel he is and yet… I just can't shake the feeling that he's not. It makes me want to yell and scream at him. I don't have the time or energy to feel anything but hatred towards him. I'm trying to just find Neal, not let Pan redeem himself. He's supposed to be irredeemable.

"Bird?" Peter asks. "Did you hear what I said? Do you need help getting up?" I blink a few times at Peter, torn from my thoughts. I look at him, searching for anything irredeemable. I want to be mad at him. I don't want him helping me. "Wendy, are you alright?" Peter takes a step towards me.

I press my lips tightly together and look up at Peter. His eyebrows are furrowed together, concerned. For the millionth time, I'm surprised to see his concern. I close my eyes and rub at my temples. "I'm fine," I tell him. "Let's just go." I want to put as much distance between myself and this afternoon as possible. I can't see him as being redeemable in any capacity.

Peter nods. "You were amazing today," he says quietly. "I would never have been able to come up with that plan so quickly. You saved us." He looks down at me with something that looks like admiration. It makes me feel like screaming. For as long as I've known him, he's never thought anything positive about me. In fact, on Neverland I'm sure he hated me. And when we started this whole journey he said he didn't even hate me, he was just indifferent. How can he now compliment me and show concern? It makes it harder to hate him. It's unfair to me. I simply want to hate him and keep him as an antagonist. Not to mention, he keeps going back on his word. It's almost as if he's trying to become… something better.

I can't let him do good or feel good. I can't go back on my promise to myself either.

"Well, I was just trying to fix the mess you got us into," I say flatly. The words feel more bitter than the vomit I just threw up. It doesn't feel right or good, but it does have the desired effect. Peter bristles immediately. He crosses his arms and looks back over his shoulder, towards where we left the merchants behind.

"Sure, Wendy. It was my fault," he clips out.

I've got to do it again. Say those bitter words, make him the villain, control my kindness. "Everything always is," I rush out. My mother would wash myself out with soap if she heard how mean that was. It makes me want to throw up again.

Peter glowers down at me and I know that I've pushed the right buttons. He seems to swallow his anger and comments, "Maybe it's because you just got the crap kicked out of you, but you aren't really acting like yourself." I raise my chin and try to give him a mean look. I'm not sure how well it goes over because he stares back at me with that awful blank glare he likes to use so much. "You want to give me a reason why? Or did you just get kicked in the head too many times?"

"I don't know why you think this is abnormal," I try and say coolly. Peter rolls his eyes.

"Okay, get on the horse. You've obviously gotten one too many kicks to the head or something. Maybe it's just this rain," Peter grits out. He takes me by the arm and begins to help me onto the horse before I pull away angrily. As the contact between us breaks, so does my resolve.

"I just don't know why you did it- or do it- or do any of it," I blurt out.

"Do what?" Peter asks. He looks at me as if I'm about to break and maybe I am. "Tell them about the star?"

"No," I bark out. "Not that. Just now, when you were concerned, when you complimented me." I pause and Peter looks at me wildly, as if I've let out some big secret. I run my hands frantically through my hair, knocking off my hood in the process. The rain beats down onto my head, making me feel even colder than before. "You tried to save me today."

Peter presses his lips together and nods. He lets the silence drag out for what seems like forever. The rain pours mercilessly down on us. What little light that we had at the beginning of the day has almost faded. The tree line becomes has become darker, pressing in on us. The horses skit nervously around us, sensing something is wrong. There's nothing around for miles, it's just me and Peter and all our bitterness.

"You want to know why I did it?" He runs a hand across his face, wiping of the rain. "Why the hell wouldn't I do it?"

"'My fascination ended with you long ago'," I repeat his words back to him. "Don't lie and say it's because you care about me because I know you don't." Peter looks down at me, almost disappointed.

"Maybe I was deluding myself back then," Peter says unconvincingly, like he doesn't even believe it himself.

"Back then? You mean a month and a half ago?" I question.

Peter squares his jaw and glares at me, frustrated. He waves away my questioning. "I know you don't care about minor details like timing. How about you just get to your point, Wendy? Come on, out with it."

"Alright, then," I say. "Why are you being kind to me when we spent the past century hating each other? What is your ulterior motive? I know it's not just to get the star. There has to be something else. There's always a purpose to everything you do."

"There isn't this time," Peter tells me. His face is blank, but I can see the tension in his jaw, the concentration in his eyes and I know I've cornered him.

"Liar," I accuse.

"I'm telling you the truth, bird," Peter tells me again.

"I don't believe you," I tell him.

"You don't have to," he tells me, putting up his hands, tossing away my belief.

"I want the truth."

"I gave it to you."

"No, you didn't."

"Yes, I did!"

"Don't you lie to me, Peter Pan!"

Peter throws up his hands in defeat. "Fine! It's redemption," he admits. "I want redemption." There's a moment of silence that I look at him in disbelief before I realize it must be a joke and break into a fit of laughter.

"Redemption," I say through bursts of laughter. "That's a good one."

Peter looks at me, crestfallen. "It's not a joke. I'm serious. I want redemption and forgiveness." He pauses and runs his hands through his hair. "I don't want to be the villain anymore." At his words, I feel the anger burst inside of me. I can't believe he's said the words, had the audacity to ask for redemption, put into words that he doesn't want to be a villain. He's not allowed to want those things, after all he's done.

I shake my head. "Too bad," I spit. "You can't be anything else."

Peter looks at me, pleadingly. "I want to try, Wendy. Being around you, seeing your bravery and strength and kindness. It's made me realize I've been wasting my life. I look back on all I did in Neverland and I can't believe I've done it." Peter pauses and takes a big breath in. "Being evil has worn out my soul. I'm tired and weary. I don't want to carry this guilt around anymore." Peter swallows, nervously. "I want to be the son my mother wanted. Maybe even the boy you thought you saw."

I scoff. I look away and run my hands through my hair. With each word that Peter's said, I've grown more and more angry. I don't think I've ever been this furious with him in the hundred years I've known him. Not when he killed young boys, not when he captured me. I can't believe that he thinks he can turn around after all that's happened and tell me he wants forgiveness.

I wipe the rain off my face and begin to search for words. I sigh deeply, trying to compose myself enough to articulate how misguided he is in what he wants. "I don't even know where to start with you," I clip out. I ball my hands up in tight fists and glare at him. "If you think, for one second, that you can leave behind all you've done, you are sorely mistaken." Peter's face falls and then hardens immediately. "I don't understand where this even came from."

Peter covers his face with his hands and takes a moment to speak. "Haven't you seen it coming? I've come to terms with it slowly, ever since Gavin. I'm sure you suspected." I almost laugh at myself because there were a few times that I did. "Ever since I was brought back from the dead- or I don't even know I would call it that, it was just endless darkness, falling forever-, everything I've done has caught up with me. It's broken me down, piece by piece. I see all I've done to the Lost Boys, to the people of Storybrooke, most of all to you. The guilt and regret and remorse is eating me from the inside out. I feel like I'm just turning into a shadow of al the things I've done wrong. I can't sleep. I can't eat. I can't look at myself in the mirror. I can't do it anymore. I don't want to do it." Peter swallows and I can see a glint of a tear in his eye, but I brush it off as the rain. "Wendy, bird, I'm begging you. Please."

I rub at my temples. I shake my head. "I can't do it. I can't forgive you. You can't be forgiven."

"Please. I'm trying," Peter pleads, but I'm completely unconvinced.

"You're trying?" I almost shout. "You're trying? Yesterday you destroyed the lobby of an inn and today you almost killed all those merchants. I don't know where you've come up with this idea that you're trying."

"I've tried being kinder to you, Wendy."

"Being kind to me doesn't change the fact that you have singlehandedly ruined my life," I shout. "You are the sole reason for every unhappiness in my life. You captured Neal, tricked me into giving you my heart and then shoved it right back in and kept me prisoner on that godforsaken island. I don't even know why you did that. You don't even have the decency to tell me why you gave me back my heart. On top of that, you forced me to play doctor to your little Lost Boys, put me through hell when I didn't agree with you, tore me from my family, enslaved my brothers. The list goes on and on, Pan." I take a moment to suck in an angry breath. "You are my greatest unhappiness, Peter. Being kind to me can't change the past."

"It can change the future, Wendy," Peter says. "I want to be my mother's son, your friend."

I ball my fists up and try to compose myself enough to get my point across before ultimately failing. "Don't you understand?" I yell. "You're irredeemable. You can't be forgiven. You can't be your mother's son or my friend after all you've done. Your mother's son wouldn't have abandoned his brother to play murderous king on that hell of an island." Peter's face is completely broken now that I've said the words. Seeing the look on his face makes my heart squeeze in my chest and my throat feel tight. I can't go back now. I've got to convince myself and him that he's irredeemable, a villain. "Don't you realize that we did the exact opposite of each other? I left my life to save my brother and you left your life to doom your brother. We can't be friends."

"But last night-"

"I told you!" I cry. "It was a mistake." My voice shakes when I yell it and I'm not certain that last night was. I know I'm angry with him, that I'm beyond hurt, but I also know that it pains me to tell him so. It pains me to be this cruel.

Peter looks at me, his eyes clear and broken. He looks as if he's about to shatter into a million pieces and I feel as if I'm about to shatter with him. He closes his eyes and tears being to slip out. He shakes his head. "Oh, God, Wendy, I know what mistakes are," he tells me, quietly. "My life's been one mistake after another and I know that last night was the furthest thing from a mistake." He opens his eyes and looks at me with the tiniest amount of hope. "It was the beginning of redemption."

I lift my chin up and look at him with narrow eyes. "You are the cause of my ruin. You've smashed any hope of goodness inside of me. So, I'm going to do this same to you." I take a deep breath. I've got to finish the job, I've got to break him like he's done to me. "I will never forgive you, Peter Pan."

Peter's face breaks into a million pieces and tears begin to roll down his cheeks. "Wendy, please," he repeats over and over like a prayer. He begins to sink onto his knees, into the mud. He bends down, resting his head on my stomach. His hands find mine and squeeze them, tightly. He begs me, pleads with me, sobbing.

I begin to sob quietly, too. I don't even know why at first. Then I realize that it's because I feel like I'm being ripped in half. Peter is the villain, he's supposed to be. I'm supposed to hate him. I'm not supposed to forgive him. And half of me wants to not forgive him, the Wendy that was kept prisoner on his island, the one who was torn from her family over and over, the one who was tricked into giving her heart up wants to leave him broken and guilty. But then that hopeful Wendy, the one who first arrived in Neverland, who gave Peter a kiss and a thimble, who believed his capacity to love and have mercy on Gavin, the one who held him as he wept for his mother wants to forgive him. She wants him to be redeemed. She doesn't want him to be the villain, but the hero. Both of those Wendy's are tearing my heart into shreds.

I slowly slip down onto my knees, and join Peter. He rests his head on my shoulder, his tears hot on my neck. He shakes in my arms and I shake in his. In all my years of pain and sorrow, I've never felt so broken. Both of us have been shattered into a million pieces, scattering broken bits of ourselves into a mix of scraps and fragments. If I try to piece myself back together, I find myself using his pieces. He tries to reform himself, he finds he's using shards of me. I fear we'll never be whole again.

I feel Peter pull himself back and then place his warm hands on my cheeks. I open my eyes long enough to see him lean in towards me. I have a moment of panic before the Wendy that hates Peter takes over and pushes him down into the mud. I immediately jump up and yell, "Don't touch me!"

Peter lies in the mud, staring up at me, tears still streaming down his face, mixing with the blood and the mud. He looks so pitiful I fear my heart is going to break. I ball my hands into fists and try and give my best glare.

"I will never forgive you," I snarl.

With that, I painfully turn around and clamber up onto Ash. I urge him forward, away from Peter, away from the pain.


	32. Failing Heroes and Efficient Villains

"You've done it again, haven't you?"

Pan looks up from the cup of tea and cookies he's helped himself to in my treehouse. He came in late, so late in fact it might even be considered early. His face is streaked with dirt and blood, his hair pushed every which way, his clothes rumpled. He looks to be in his element, excited, in control. He raises an eyebrow at me.

"What is it that I've done again?" he asks smoothly. He dunks a cookie into his tea and bites into it ravenously. He looks as if he's completely forgotten that he just trampled into my treehouse a few minutes again, limping, covered in blood.

"You killed Declan," I say flatly, trying to keep my voice even and void of all the rage I feel.

Pan quirks an eyebrow at me. "Bird, I know a lot of things are different on the island, but I can assure you that it is impossible to kill anyone person twice." He snatches another cookie from the plate and eats it in two bites.

I roll my eyes. "That's not what I meant," I tell him. "What I meant is that you killed another one of the Lost Boys that I had become fond of. Specifically Declan." I tap my fingers expectantly on the table, waiting for him to deny it, to avoid the topic, to tell me I'm imagining things.

He furrows his eyebrows for a moment. "Remind me again who Declan is. There are so many Lost Boys these days, I honestly can't keep track."

I grind my teeth. "I know you know who he is. You only saw him just yesterday." Pan stares back at me blankly. I sigh. "You know him. Dark skin, curly hair, thin, tall. Ten years old. He follows me all around the infirmary. He's quite interested in medicine. From the Enchanted Forest. Been here about a year."

I spotted him out of the corner of my eye a few months ago while I was doing rounds after a particularly violent game that Felix led. Pan had been off getting new recruits and had left the boys to their own devices, so obviously they made sure they could break as many rules as possible in Pan's absence. Declan followed me around like a shadow, silent but constant. I waved him over a few times, but he seemed stuck in his place, watching me curiously a few feet away. I kept him in the corner of my eye the rest of the night, seeing how he craned his head to see how I set bones or stitched up cuts. His eyes gleamed with curiosity and interest, and I couldn't help but have a soft spot for him. It's rare that there's ever anyone that I meet who takes an interest in medicine, let alone anyone who I think will help me with it. I'd be more than delighted to teach him.

But.

Every Lost Boy who I happen to find always ends up missing, disappearing in the night without a trace, all their things gone. No sign of a struggle. No blood. No body. Every single time since Gavin. The first few times it happened, I hoped against all hopes that they had somehow found their way off the island, escaping Pan and the Shadow, finding their families and happiness. Then I came to realize that it's nearly impossible to get off the island without Pan's help. From there I began to piece together that their disappearances and Pan seeing me with them the first time always seemed to take place within twenty-four hours of each other. I slowly came to realize that Pan was most certainly the reason for their disappearances, or more accurately, their deaths. Of course, I have no proof that they are dead, but what else would Pan be doing with them?

So I began making sure Pan wouldn't find out about any of the few friends that I made. I would make sure they didn't advertise that I was fond of them. I'd make sure that I would have them sneak out of the camp to see me when I was sure no one would notice their absence. The young ones were harder to keep silent. I tried to avoid making friends with them. They reminded me painfully of my brothers and Gavin, but I couldn't help myself. The older ones, the ones that I became romantically involved with were easier to keep silent, but just as hard to lose. Those few boys, only one or two, briefly became my rocks, my confidants. Losing them didn't mean just losing a friend, but losing a support.

Losing each of them meant that I had failed them. That I had failed to be their saviour and hero. That Pan had been the villain and stolen them away.

This is exactly what happened to Declan.

Pan had shown up unexpectedly at the infirmary when I was teaching Declan how to bandage wounds. It had been a calm day, with rain pattering down outside and only a few boys in the infirmary. But suddenly the calm was broken, and Pan came crashing in, yelling at Felix about letting the boys get out of hand in his absence. I took it he had just returned from one of his absences, but this one however had been rather long. I tried in a last ditch effort to shove Declan away from me, to perhaps make him pose as one of my patients. I sat him forcefully down on the bed, but Pan had already noticed and lost interest in his argument with Felix.

He sauntered over, lazily, with a grin on his face. Before he could even get a word in, I clipped out, "I'm dealing with patients right now, Pan. Go away." Pan lost interest in Declan for a second and turned towards me. I motioned for Declan to get out quickly, but he sat in his place, looking up at Pan in wonder.

"What, bird? No hello? No welcome back?" he said, feigning hurt feelings. He clucked his tongue. "Now, is that any way to treat a dear friend?" I nearly threw the wash cloth I was using to rinse out the wound of an incapacitated Lost Boy into the bucket of steaming hot water at my feet.

"I'm quite certain I'll never call you a friend, Pan. Let alone a dear one," I clipped. I rung out the cloth and began to dab it along the forearm of the child I was attending to. I let one hand fall to my side, where I again tried to motion for Declan to leave, but he seemed to be stuck to his seat, beaming at Peter. I had assumed up until this point that Declan saw Pan as I did, but I suddenly remembered that my attempts to educate Declan about how bad Pan was had always failed. Declan still saw Pan as a wonderful, wild king, not a murderer.

Pan frowned at me. "How awkward. Here I was thinking that we were." He turned to Declan and Declan looked as if he was about to faint. "Declan, weren't you also under the impression that Wendy and I are very good friends?" Declan beamed up at Pan and nodded vigorously. Pan grinned down at Declan, and I could see him getting ready to take this teasing a step too far. "In fact, I've heard some gossip that you Lost Boys think that Wendy and I are involved?" Pan winked down at Declan, who immediately turned away, blushing.

"Stop it, 's not funny," I told him. "Don't tell lies."

With Declan turned away, Pan took the opportunity to swoop down close to my ear and whisper. "But we were, once." He laughed softly into my ear, his breath hot on my neck. "I seem to recall exchanging… What was it now?" I could practically hear his grin. "Ah, yes. Thimbles." I smacked his shoulder away.

"Stop it," I demanded. "Stop it right _now_." Pan seemed get the message because he straightened up immediately and took a step back. Declan, getting over his fit of blushing, had returned to staring up at Pan, as if he were some sort of god. I took a deep breath. "Now, what is it you want?"

"I simply wanted to say hello. After all, bird, I haven't seen you in-"

"What do you really want?" I interrupted.

"I've a rather nasty bruise from a fall I took on the way back. I want you to check it out."

I rolled my eyes and motioned to the boy I'd been attending to. "Can't you see I'm already doing something else?"

Pan shrugged. "You're almost finished." It was true. I almost was. But I did not want to tend to Pan at the moment. I wanted to try and stash Declan away somewhere before Pan could get to him. My cover had been completely blown. There was no pretending I wasn't fond of Declan now. I just had to try and hide him away before Pan could get to him. I had to try and save just one of the Lost Boys, just this once. It looked, however, like Pan was once again going to get in the way.

Pan turned to Declan then. "Now, Declan, give Wendy and I some privacy. Run along." Declan hopped out of his seat and was about to do exactly as Pan had told him, but I reached out and grabbed his hand. He looked down at my hand, sticky with blood, and then back up to me, surprised.

"Be safe," I told him. "Please, Declan. Be safe." I tried to will him with my eyes to understand what I was trying to tell him, to run away, to try and get off the island, to hide, to stay away from Pan, to do anything to save himself. He just stared at me blankly and then smiled. He put his small warm hand on my cheek.

"Don't worry, Wendy," he assured me. "I'm under Pan's protection. He'll keep me safe." Then with that he was bounding off, out of my protection.

That was the last time I saw him, his little legs carrying him out of the room and away from me…

I'm immediately jolted back to the present by Peter's voice. "Yes, I remember. After he left the infirmary you said something along the lines of 'If you touch a hair on his head, you'll have me to answer to'." Pan chuckles. "Really, bird. You need to work on making your threats even mildly threatening."

"I was serious," I say, ignoring his teasing. "And I know you did hurt him and all the others before him, so that means-"

"I'm going to stop you right there," he tells me. "You have no proof that I did that."

"Every time you meet one of the Lost Boys I've made friends with, within twenty-four hours, they disappear without a trace," I tell him, punctuating every word carefully. "I know you, Peter Pan. And I know you can't let me have a little bit of happiness."

"Oh, come on, now. Don't make me out to be a villain."

I throw my hands up, almost in defeat. "How can I not make you out to be the villain when you come traipsing in here, in the middle of the night, wounded, and covered in blood?" Pan shrugs. "Not to mention the fact that you've kept me prisoner here for sixty years, destroyed my life, kidnap innocent children constantly and kill them occasionally, when they pose a threat to you." I run my hands through my hair. "How can I not make you out to be the villain?"

Pan humphs, folding his arms across his chest and sliding back in his seat like a petulant child. He tightens his jaw and looks out the window, glowering at something off in the distance. His eyes are blue and icy, cold and distant as ever. His dark hair falls haphazardly all over his face. His clothes are rumpled and dirty. In this moment, he looks much less like a villain, and more like a thwarted hero.

"Well, if I'm the villain, that makes you the hero," he says quietly, angrily. "And if you're supposed to be the hero, you're not a very good one." I immediately bristle at his words. "You came here to save your brother, but you ended up getting captured and have spent the better part of the last seventy years as my caged bird." I drum my fingers on the table, growing angrier and angrier with every word. I can't stand to have him tell me this. It means that understand perfectly how I see my imprisonment: as a failure. He's using that to chip away at me, and I hate him for it. "And even when you do have a chance to save someone, you can't do it. You let Declan walk away from you so easily. You didn't fight, you didn't yell. You just made some empty threats."

"Stop it."

"Face it, bird. I may be the villain, but at least I get shit done. All you've been able to do is become a failing hero."

I jump up immediately out of my chair and slam my hand down on the table. The blow sends reverberations all through my body, but I'm too furious too care. I feel like smacking that stupid smirk off his face right now. Oh, God, in this moment, I swear I could kill him.

"Don't you dare say those things about me!" I yell. "I do fight and I try!" I bow my head down for a moment and take a breath. "I've tried to save every single one of them. I tried to get them out, to keep them safe." I take another deep breath and look Peter straight in the eye. He stares back at me with something that almost looks like pride or admiration. I'm sure it's pride in himself that he's gotten this rise out of me. But I take the bait anyway. "I wanted to save them. All of them. And I tried to. I did. I tried to save Declan… and Gavin… and Neal." I shake my head. "But I couldn't hurt anyone." I close my eyes and shake my head. "But oh, God, I would. I would hurt you and save everyone. I would. I would kill you." I take a deep breath. "I wish I could."

I open my eyes and glare back at Pan, who is still in his seat, unmoved, watching me curiously with one eyebrow raised. He calmly stands up and goes over to the counter. He slides out one of the drawers, reaches in quickly and shuts it. He turns around again, carefully so that I don't see what he's brought back. Then slams it point down into the table between us.

A knife.

It shines and glints in the dim light of the candles in the kitchen. It's smooth and clean. It's handle is dark wood, heavy but sturdy. It's sharp and lethal.

Pan motions to the knife. "If you say you wish you could kill me, here's your chance." He plops down into the chair and lounges in it, apparently unaware that he's just invited me to kill him. "Come on, I won't put up a fight." He raises his eyebrows at me.

I want to step down. I want to say that I can't do it. I don't want to be a murderer. I don't want to be that type of hero. I want to say that. But I can't. Because I don't want to be the failing hero either. I don't want to be trapped by all the bad choices I've made up until this point. I don't want to be in this position, forced to continue on this way. I don't want to be forced to be either type of hero, just because the situation is forcing my hand. I just want to save people.

I want to say all this to Peter.

But I can't.

Pan would never be able to understand this feeling of being trapped, of being thrown into a position I desperately don't want to be in, of being caught up in my past mistakes and shortcomings, of outside forces pushing me to be someone I'm not. He would never be able to see it from my point of view. He'd never understand.

I swallow thickly and reach out with shaking hands for the knife. I grasp it and pull it out of the table. I never break eye contact with Pan as I move around the table to him. He stands up and waits for me.

I finally reach him and he stares down at me blankly. I can't tell if he's scared or surprised or anything. His jaw is clenched. He looks completely unmovable.

"What'll it be?" he taunts. "Into the stomach, for a slow painful death." He pauses and quirks his eyebrow up at me. "I'm sure you think I deserve it." He turns his head and looks down at me thoughtfully. "Or you could be merciful, go for the throat. It'll be quick. I won't linger."

I look down at the knife. My hands are shaking so badly I'm afraid I'll drop it. I grasp it tighter, so tight my knuckles turn white.

 _Don't be good, Wendy. You can't let yourself be kind. He never is and never will be to you. Don't be good, Wendy._

I repeat it like a mantra. I say it like a prayer. I force myself to do it.

I raise the knife, slowly, deliberately. My hand feels like lead and the knife feels like a deadweight, but I keep pushing myself forward. I move my hand up towards his carotid artery. It'll be messy, but it will be quick and easy. It'll be one quick motion. So simple and easy. It'll only take a second.

I feel sick doing this.

 _Don't be good, Wendy. You can't let yourself be kind. He never is and never will be to you. Don't be good, Wendy._

He's so real and alive in front of me. He's warm and solid. His eyes are bright and clear and trained on me. I can see the shallow, rapid movement of his chest, the breaths he takes.

 _Don't be good, Wendy. You can't let yourself be kind. He never is and never will be to you. Don't be good, Wendy._

I know he's a villain, but he's alive too. He's a living breathing human being. I know what it's like to kiss him. I know he has feelings. He loved Gavin. I know he can care. I know that there must be good in him. There must be. There must be some part in there that's good.

 _Don't be good, Wendy. You can't let yourself be kind. He never is and never will be to you. Don't be good, Wendy._

There must be some good in there. Maybe I can save him and everyone else along with him.

 _Don't be good, Wendy. You can't let yourself be kind. He never is and never will be to you. Don't be good, Wendy._

 _Don't be good, Wendy. You can't let yourself be kind._

 _Don't be good, Wendy._

 _Don't be good._

 _Don't be good._

 _Don't be good._

 _Don't be good._

 _Don't._

 _Don't._

 _Don't._

 _Don't be._

 _Be good._

I drop the knife and it clatters to the floor.

I let out a strangled cry and fall back into the chair. I cover my face with my hands. I curse profusely. I don't know whether to be proud of myself or completely and utterly disappointed. I put my head in my hands and leave it there, listening to the drum of my heartbeat in my ears.

I hear Pan sit down heavily in the chair next to me. He shifts in his chair and leans forward onto the table. He sits there, still and silent as ever, like I didn't just try to kill him.

"I want to be good," I say softly, my voice breaking the silence. I sigh deeply, warily. "I don't want to hurt anyone. Not even you." I straighten up and face Pan. He stares back at me, his face blank as ever. "But don't think I don't want it to be that way." I pause. "I don't want to be the failing hero. I just want to save people."

Pan closes his eyes and I brace myself for a sarcastic retort. "I know," he says softly. "I know, Wendy." He leans back in his chair. His hand comes over to my knee and squeezes it. The touch is almost comforting, but it's gone before I can react. He clasps his hands behind his head and goes still again.

The silence stretches on.

He finally breaks it.

"But don't think I want it to be this way, either," he whispers, quietly. He says it like a confession. He puts his hands in his lap and seems to examine them thoughtfully. "Sometimes… I don't want to be the villain." He pauses and then laughs bitterly. He looks at me over his shoulder and then quickly turns his chair around to face me. "But it seems for both of us, that our hands are forced." He purses his lips. "It seems we're both trapped, thrown into a position we don't want to be in, caught up in our past mistakes and shortcomings, with outside forces pushing us to be people we aren't." He reaches out tentatively and places his hand on my knee again. He looks at me almost pleadingly, begging me to affirm his own feelings. I can do it too. I know exactly how he feels. I could tell him all of this.

But then the moment shatters.

He straightens up immediately and almost leaps out of his chair. He turns around, pushing his chair out of the way and stalks towards the door.

"Forget I said any of that," he bites out.

Then with that, he slams the door shut and bounds off into the night.


	33. Old Wounds

"Give me something, you stupid old book," I mutter to myself as I rifle through an innumerable amount of dust-covered books that seem as if they are about to crumble under my touch. For the first little while, I tried to be careful with the ancient texts, but at this point I hardly care about keeping them intact. All I want from them is one hint of a spell that could help me begin to undo the mess Neal's gotten himself into. It's been weeks of searching through chilling, empty mansions without so much as a glimmer of anything relating to Neal or saving him. My hands are covered in paper cuts and I can hardly keep my eyes open long enough anymore to skim the yellowing pages of the withering spell books. This is the seventh mansion we've been to and I'm afraid that it won't be anymore help than the other six we've been to. The only thing I know about this place is that firstly, I have yet to find a single piece of useful information here and secondly, Peter says that the mansion can create hallucinations, whatever that means. My frustration with this quest mounts with every single page that I turn over that doesn't have the spell. I feel like tearing up each and every book that won't be of any help to me and throwing the scraps into the fire. I have not lived for nearly a hundred years trying to get my family back together to be foiled by some useless pieces of paper and leather bound together. I've fought Lost Boys and Peter Pan, trampled through jungles, saved young boys from the brink of death, and, crossed realms and decade. I will not be bested by a few old books. I'm going to find this spell and I'm going to finally save Neal.

Across from me, Peter looks down at his own pile of books, uninterested, dejected. It's fairly easy to tell that our last big fight has sent him into a tailspin of guilt and remorse. I can see it in the tightness of his jaw, the rigidity of his shoulders, the dark bruised circles under his eyes, the sullen pout of his mouth. His actions, too, indicate his anguish. He doesn't talk much, but when he does it's always with cold, measured words. I know he doesn't speak to me often because it keeps him from either going into a fit of rage because I refuse to forgive him or pitiful pleading also because I also refuse to forgive him. On top of this, I also know he isn't sleeping much at all, and the sleep that he does get is very poor. Most nights, I wake up to his whimpering and crying and begging for forgiveness in his sleep. I find it ironic that as soon as my nightmares have ended, his have begun. I know his nightmares are filled with every person that he's done wrong. They all haunt him, like poltergeists, throwing around his conscience and smashing what little bit of a heart he does have. I watch him from my bed, tossing and turning until he wakes up shivering and shaking, eventually devolving into soft sobbing.

Those are the times when it's the most difficult to withhold my forgiveness. I see his figure there in the dark, quivering and quaking like the small lonely child he must have been all those centuries ago. I see the friendless orphan, lost and scared and in need of kindness. I grip the sheets so hard my knuckles turn white, willing myself to stay in bed, to stay away from him. I try to block out his heavy breathing by reminding myself of all he's done, but the determination is always broken by the image of a young Peter, looking up at his mother with tears in his eyes, asking why he doesn't have any friends. Then the memory of Peter playing with Gavin strong-arms its way into my mind's eye. Before I know it I'm thinking of Peter coming back for me after I gave him the star, a drunk, desperately unhappy Peter sobbing into my lap, or even still, Peter throwing himself in front of Gordon's knife. I grit my teeth and try unsuccessfully to push Peter's best moments out of my mind as Peter tries to push his worst moments out of his own mind. My heart hammers in my chest in those moments, threatening to leap out of me and over to Peter. My hands ache to brush back his hair and wipe away his tears. Words of comfort become lodge in my throat and almost escape every time. I stay that way for hours, willing myself to not be good. I hate those hours that seem to stretch on and on, with both of us trying and failing to find peace. In the day, we wake up and ignore each other, pretending that neither of us were kept up by our demons the whole night.

Peter clears his throat from across the ornate table and I look up from the book that I've completely forgotten about. He blinks at me once before remembering what he wants to say. "I think I've found the spell Baelfire must have used to bring back Gold." At this, I almost leap out of my chair and hurry over to his side of the table. I look down over his shoulder at the ancient text he has opened in front of him. It's so old I can hardly make out the words on the page. I squint at it and try to read it, but even the words I can make out seem foreign to me.

"That doesn't look like English," I comment.

"It's not. It's Latin," Peter tells me. He runs his finger along the lines of the spell. "I'm surprised there's a second copy of such an old, dangerous spell." His voice sounds far away, as if he isn't telling me any of this, but more mumbling to himself, trying to figure out a large puzzle. "It's a miracle Baelfire even survived performing this spell. This… this is dark, ancient magic." He pauses and looks up at me. His mouth is set in a serious line. "This is beyond my skill. I would never dare do this."

"Neal is fearless," I tell him. "He'd do anything for his family."

"A family trait, I assume." Peter turns back to the book with the smallest of smirks on his face and skims his finger overs the worn pages, his lips moving with the words. I push out the thought that this is definitely the longest conversation we've had in the past few weeks. I grew accustomed to the cold, sullen silences, but now I realize that I have missed, in only a very small part, that I do miss bantering with Peter.

"So what does this mean for finding a spell to undo it?"

Peter shrugs. "Well, those possessing magic a few millennia ago thought up this brilliant idea about how spells should work. They got tired of constantly having to scramble for spells that would hopefully undo another spell or curse or whatever. So they decided that the spells they created from then on always came with a reversal spell." He glances up at me for a moment. "It was quite brilliant, actually."

I nod, seeing where this is going. "I think I know what you're about to tell me." Peter raises his eyebrow at me. "This spell predates the implementation of reversal spells." He nods and looks down at the book, sighing. I run my hands through my hair and slump into the chair next to Peter. "So what does this mean?"

"It means that although we know how Neal bound himself and his father together, we have no clear way of reversing the spell." Peter runs a hand over his face and lets out a deep breath. He leans back in his chair. "If you thought this was difficult now, it's about to get hellish."

"Hellish?" I ask, dismayed. "We killed a dragon in the last mansion a week ago. How is that not already hellish?" I rub my temples and try to think straight. I've been away three months from my brothers and the only progress I've made is finding out that everything is even more difficult and dangerous than I'd already thought. It looks like my second quest to find Neal is going just about as well as the first.

"I don't know what to tell you," Peter says, attempting to console me. His fingers awkwardly fidget on his knee, obviously itching to grab my hand. I give him an icy look and he retracts his hand. "This spell isn't just the merging of Neal and my brother." He looks down at the book and almost glares at it. "Neal gave up his heart to bring his father back." Peter pauses and shakes his head. "They are sharing one heart. To be able to separate them in the first place and then to keep them both alive, we'd need someone to willingly give up their heart."

"I think you of all people would know that I am more than willing to give up my heart for Neal," I tell Pan seriously. He winces at the memory I've brought up. I feel a twinge that I've hurt him, but this memory is what he's asking me to forgive. If it's even painful for him, then he must know that it's even more so for me.

"I'm not letting you do that."

"Since when are you the boss of me?" Peter sputters at my retort but offers no explanation for his commands. "I don't care what anyone else says, if I have to give up my heart for Neal then so be it. I didn't spend one hundred years on that godforsaken island because I only kind of wanted to help Neal. He is my brother and I will do anything for him," I declare. I cross my arms over my chest and glare at Peter. I'm not even going to give him the chance to fight me on this. I don't care what he says. Nothing will change my resolve for Neal.

"Before we go around giving up our still beating hearts, let's consider an idea," Peter argues back. I open my mouth but he continues on. "Just entertain me for a moment, will you?" I glare angrily at Peter but remain silent. "Have you considered just giving the heart to one person?"

My jaw nearly hits the floor. "Are you insane?" Peter gives me a puzzled look. "Gold is your brother. How can you talk about killing him? I know you really like to embrace the whole 'evil villain' persona, but he is still your brother, Peter."

"He's the Dark One! It's not like he's doing anyone any good," Peter rationalizes. I stare at him completely aghast before standing up abruptly. I shove the chair back under the table and begin pacing the floor.

"I don't even know where to start with you! How do I begin to get this through that thick skull of yours? I've no idea how to begin to explain this to you when I'm willing to die for my brother and you're suggesting killing yours," I rant to Peter.! I turn on Peter and point a finger at him. "You are such a hypocrite! You can stand here and tell me that you believe that your own brother does not deserve to live because he's the Dark One, when you yourself have spent nearly four hundred years acting as a tyrannical ruler of a hellish jungle. And also with powers that you constantly and consistently misuse. And then to top it off, you can turn around and make sad eyes at me, begging to be forgiven because you can't handle the guilt you feel for all you've done."

Peter sputters between rage and indignation at what I've just said to him. Finally, he's able to pull himself enough together to flail his arms about and say, "I'm trying, Wendy, okay?"

"People who are trying don't suggest killing their brothers!" I shout. I rub my forehead. "I can't believe you think I would even considering forgiving you when you suggest killing the only family you have left." I shake my head.

Peter looks up at me, his face set in the stone cold expression that I hate so much. His jaw is clenched and his eyes are hard and icy. I can't tell if he's about to blow up or stalk out of the room. "Have you ever considered that I may want to save you more than I want to save Rumple? That perhaps you are more important to me than he is?" he asks, his voice carefully measured, his gaze earnest and completely trained on me.

I blink at him, stunned. My heart beats against my chest, threatening to jump right out of it. His words hang in the air, repeating in my mind over and over again. My cheeks feel warming rosy. I hadn't considered this before-

What am I thinking? I shake myself from my daze and try and manage my best stone cold look, wiping all emotion from my face. There is no possible way that Peter would ever feel that way about me. For God's sake, he's spent the last century as my arch nemesis. He's still a villain and he's just trying to smooth talk me into taking out his brother. The same brother who quite literally stabbed him in the back. There is no way in hell that Peter could be telling the truth right now.

I raise my chin and look down at him with narrow eyes. "No," I simply state.

Peter glares at me for a second before quickly standing up and slamming the book shut on the table. He shoves it into his bag and quickly storms out of the library.

"Where do you think you're going?" I call after him.

He stops with his hand on the handle of the large double doors that lead into the large cavernous library. He turns around and points his finger at me. "Well, if you're so set on just giving up your life, then there's no point in looking for anymore spells, is there?" he demands. His black cape swishes around him angrily and the dark circles stand out from under his eyes. He looks more upset with me than I've ever seen him. For a brief moment, I consider that perhaps he was telling the truth about me being more important to him than Rumple.

"That's not the only option, Peter, and you know it," I bite out.

Peter clenches his jaw and shakes his head. "I'm not going to help you when you're even considering going on a suicide mission for your brother," he tells me. "I'm going back to the inn." He glares at me one final time before slamming the door behind him.

I slam my hand down on the table and scream. "Who the hell does he think he is?" I yell to no one in particular. "I make my own decisions." I huff and slump back into my chair, sinking lower and lower into it and my outrage at Peter. I cross my arms and sit in that chair for a good long while, brooding about all that Peter said to me. I spend a good long while picking over outr fight, running over it like an open wound. It angers me to no end that he feels that he can tell me what to do and even have the gall to say that he's suggesting killing his brother simply because he likes me more. He doesn't have the right to tell me that I can't go ahead with my plan for Neal. And that plan isn't even set in stone. I still have time to continue looking for another solution, another way to save Neal and not have to give up my heart in the process. I mean, it's still possible, right?

I swallow thickly and lean forward onto the table, suddenly forgetting my anger at Peter as I begin to worry about Baelfire and what saving him entails. I put my head in my hands and think seriously about how plausible it is that I'll even be able to save him. I've been searching for him and a solution to his problem for months and all I've come up with is that the predicament he's gotten himself into is even worse than I'd already imagined. I feel as if I've taken only one step forward and then two steps back. Now that I realize just how dire the situation is I see just how stupid I've been going into this whole quest. There is no clear solution to separating Neal and his father and even if by some miracle I do get them separated, I'm going to have to give up my heart for Neal. And it's not as if I'm unwilling to do that for him, for any of my brothers, but it terrifies me and shakes me down to my core. Peter acts as if I'm just completely willing to give up my life for Neal without a second thought, but I am hesitant.

I haven't gotten a chance to even try living my life for just me ever. It's always been about my family. They are my life, but sometimes I entertain the idea of not having gone back to Neverland for Neal. I muse about what it would have been like to have stayed in London and grown up with Michael and John, got to stay longer with my parents, gotten married and had a family. My heart aches to have been able to have a family of my own, to have had a loving husband and wonderful children. I yearn to have been able to hold them as a baby, warm and soft, cooing and gurgling in my arms, their tiny hands grasping my finger. I wish I could have watched them grow up, to have loved them the whole way through. My heart feels like it's about to burst just thinking about the theoretical children I could have had. I have to admit I am jealous of Neal that he has gotten to have a child, even if his relationship with Henry is far from perfect. Being a mother is what I've always wanted, more than anything else. Perhaps I want it even more than saving Neal.

I shake myself.

How can I be even thinking this? I will always, always put family first. They are the most important thing to me in the world. I hold them so close to my heart. I don't know what I would do without them and I would never forgive myself if I was unable to make sure that they have the best lives possible. It's my job to save them from whatever troubles they may face or to help them with anything they ever encounter. It's my duty to them. It's who I am. I'm their protector. It's what I've always done and will continue to do, even if the road ahead will undoubtedly be extremely difficult and dangerous and painful.

I can still find a spell to reverse what Neal's done and perhaps even find a solution that doesn't involve me giving up my heart. Perhaps two people can share one heart, I reason. I vaguely remember hearing about the Charming's doing something along those lines. It's possible to find a way out of this mess, to save Neal once and for all, I think to myself, trying to remain upbeat. I've got to keep an open mind and always be looking for new possibilities and-

What's the use?

I lean my forehead against the cool table, resting it there. Who am I kidding? I know nothing about magic or reversing spells or finding spells or sharing hearts. I have no idea if any of this can be done and even if it can be done, I have no idea if I'll be able to find a way to avoid giving up my life for Neal. He probably wouldn't even let me. He'd refuse, tell me that I can't give up my life for his. Michael and John would probably say the same thing too. They'd all be furious with me, while I'd be furious with myself for not finding a better solution, for not doing the one single thing that I'm supposed to do. I'd be a complete failure and Neal would die and I would spend the rest of my life knowing that it was all my fault. All I've ever tried to do is protect my family and I can't even do that. I remember what Pan once said to me one night when he'd killed a Lost Boy that I'd come to be friends with. He told me that I was a failing hero. I tried to deny it at the time, but looking back on my life up until this point I know without a shadow of a doubt that I am. I couldn't save Neal the first time around, I let Gavin go and he died, I couldn't save a single one of the Lost Boys that I became friends with, I didn't realize that Pan had possessed Henry before it was too late, I couldn't save John from the burning mansion, I couldn't save Neal a second time. Neal even said so himself that I didn't even spend my time in Neverland looking for him. All I did was get captured a few months in and then spent the rest of the time as Pan's caged bird. I've never once been able to do my duty to my family. I'm a complete and total failure.

"Why did I even go on this quest? Why did I ever think for one second that I was capable of saving Baelfire? This was a terrible, stupid notion," I chastise myself. All I've done is leave two of my brothers at home to go in search of another brother that I'm incapable of saving. "I've never been able to save anyone."

"You're right about that one, Wendy," a young voice says.

I sit up immediately and look around wildly only to be stopped short when I finding Gavin sitting right next to me. I gasp. He looks just as I remember him. His chubby cheeks are pink and soft, his blue eyes are big and look up at me with admiration, his hair falls around his small face in golden curls. He looks completely healthy and happy. But somewhere in the back of my mind, this doesn't seem to make any sense.

"Oh, my God! Gavin! You're alive!" I exclaim and immediately reach for him, but he snatches his hands away from me. His soft expression has now turned sour, his forehead wrinkling and his mouth set in a deep frown.

"Don't touch me, Wendy!" he tells me. "I meant what I said before. You're right. You aren't able to save anyone. You couldn't save me and I'm angry with you for that." He folds his small arms over his chest and looks at me with more hatred than I was aware a five year old could muster.

I cover my mouth with my hands. I feel my heart drop into my stomach and I feel tears spring into my eyes. The old pain and guilt over Gavin's death hits me at full force and I feel as if I've just found his small lifeless body all over again. I feel as if my heart and soul have been ripped out and stomped on by my worst nightmares. I've spent decades trying to reassure myself that it wasn't my fault, that it had been Felix and the other Lost Boys. Now my worst nightmares have come true in the form of Gavin sitting right in front of me, telling me that I am responsible for his death. I feel as if a void has jut been opened up underneath of me and I'm falling into it, into the guilt and regret and self-doubt.

"Oh, God, Gavin, I am so sorry. I never thought that they would try to hurt you. I am so, so sorry," I plead with him. "I tried to save you, I really did."

"You didn't," he pouts. "You were a bad friend to me. You said you'd protect me and keep me safe. You lied." He looks at me crossly. "It's good you aren't a mother, because you'd make a terrible one."

I clutch at my chest. I feel as if my heart is being shattered with every word he says. I wipe furiously at the tears that are rolling down my cheeks. I hear myself begging and pleading with Gavin to understand, to forgive me but he refuses to listen. He just tells me over and over again that it was my fault that I couldn't save him. He repeats again and again that I'd make a horrible mother. He tells me that I'm a terrible friend, an awful doctor, a failing hero. I blubber in my chair and try to grab at his hand to make him understand that I was trying to help, that I didn't know what would happen.

But even as I'm doing this, I know what he's saying is true. I am a terrible friend, an awful doctor, a failing hero. It's lucky that I'll probably never have children of my own because I would be a horrible mother. I know that his death was all my fault.

I cover my face with my hands and tell him all this. "I'm sorry that I'm a failing hero and terrible friend and an awful doctor, Gavin. I'm so so sorry," I cry into my hands. I shake so hard that I feel as if I'm going to crack and splinter into a million different jagged pieces.

"You can add dreadful sister to that list, too, Wendy," a newer, older voice says across from me.

I look up to find Neal sitting where Gavin once was. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, something tells me that this doesn't make any sense, but I push the thought aside and I stare in complete shock at Baelfire. He, too, looks completely healthy and well. He sits across from me in his Storybrooke clothes, a pair of black jeans, a grey t-shit and a brown sweatshirt. He looks completely untouched by any spell. He looks perfect, albeit for an outraged look on his face.

"Neal, you're here! I can't believe it! I've been looking all over for you. You look so well!" I gush, ignoring momentarily what he just said to me.

"Yeah, no thanks to you, Wendy, as per usual," Neal bites out. "Did you even hear what I just told you? You're a dreadful sister. Look at this." He motions to himself. "I had to separate myself from my father all by myself. A hundred years and you still haven't gotten any better at helping your family. You're a dreadful sister."

"Neal, I've been trying to find you for months and I haven't been able to find a spell to reverse the-"

"Save it, Wendy!" Neal bark outs, putting his hand up to stop me. "We both know that these excuses are bogus. You're just incapable of protecting your family. You've failed for the umpteenth time to help me. Can't you do anything, right?" My heart gets caught in my throat and I just stare at Neal, completely torn apart by his words. I sit silently, opening and closing my mouth, grasping desperately at words that just aren't there. "What? You've run out of excuses? Here let me give you some." He glares at me. "'I got captured by Peter Pan because I had a little crush' or 'I was trapped on an island for a century' or 'I can't find a spell'," Neal mocks. I sit silently with tears rolling down my cheeks as Neal continues to mock me and my sorry excuses for my failed at attempts at saving him. He finally finishes and declares, "You're the worst excuse for a sister or a saviour, ever. And I'm not even the only one who thinks so." I blink and suddenly John and Michael appear, standing behind Neal's chair. They both look perfectly healthy and fine. John looks as if he's never had a burn in his life. They both look so clean and put together. They look completely untouched by anything.

"Yes, you really are, Wendy," John nods.

"We spend a century as Pan's personal slaves and then you repay us by running off and partnering up with him?" Michael demands of me. "Are you serious?"

"He was the only option I had!" I protest. "Please I'm just trying to help Neal!"

Neal turns around and looks up at Michael and John. "You hear that? What did I tell you? More and more excuses. Disgraceful," Neal chides. Michael and John murmur agreement before all three of them launch into speeches that outline just how terrible a sister I am.

And just like before with Gavin, I know deep, deep down that I really am an dreadful sister, a terrible friend, an awful doctor, and a failing hero. I continue to sob into my hands as they chip away at my very core relentlessly. Finally I cover my face and sob into my hands, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry that I'm no good at anything I do. I'm sorry that I'm a dreadful sister!"

Finally, all I hear are my sobs and I look up to see why all three of my brothers have gone silent, but instead of them I find my very own mother sitting before me. My jaw nearly drops to the floor at the sight of her. She looks just as I remember with a soft halo of blonde hair, bright blue eyes, a welcoming face. She looks like a dream. I feel warm and loved just looking at her. She is a balm to all of the heartache I've just enduring. I let out a cry of joy and relief before I open my arms and move to throw them around her. Then her calm expression breaks and turns stormy and my heart drops again.

"Don't you come near me, Wendy Darling," she chastises me. Her voice grates against my soul and rips holes in my heart.

"But, Mother-"

"Who are you calling Mother?" she demands. "No child of mine would ever act like this. I would never have raised such a pitiful excuse for a girl. No daughter of mine would ever consistently fail to do her duty to her family." At this I don't even protest, I just burst into tears. She just shakes her head and continues on. "Just look at you. Blubbering and snivelling like this." She scoffs. "As if you didn't already know all the horrible things you are. You already know that you've failed to save Neal twice, you were the reason for Gavin's death, you let all those other Lost Boys die, you're working with the enemy, you're medical skills are just dreadful. My God, girl, what a waste you are."

I run my hands through my hair. "No, Mother, please," I beg. "Please forgive me. I'm trying honestly. I'm trying so, so hard to be a good sister and friend and doctor and saviour. I'm trying to be all that everyone needs me to be, to be all that you raised me to be." I cover my mouth with my hand. "I'm trying, honestly."

Mother rolls her eyes, which a small voice in my mind tells me that she would never do. "You're not trying when you entertain thoughts about putting yourself before your brother. Daydreaming about being a mother!" She gives a brittle laugh, so unlike the one I'm used to. "What a terrible mother you'd make, Wendy. You're a sorry excuse of a girl. You could never be anything more than a failure. It's ludicrous for you to even think you'd be a half-decent mother."

"Mother," I sob. "Please."

"I've heard quite enough. I never want to see you again, girl. I don't even want to remember that I once considered you a child of mine," she tells me icily. She stands up and begins to make her way towards the door. I jump out and reach for her hand, but my hand passes right through her. I stop right in my tracks, confused. My mind feels heavy, but I vaguely recall Peter telling me something about this mansion causing hallucinations. I close my eyes, trying to concentrate on what he said. My mind feels slow and I just get more confused the more I think about it.

I open my eyes and look to my mother for an explanation, but I find only empty space in the place she once stood. I blink a few times, completely confused before letting all the conversations I've just had wash over me and I let myself dissolve into weeping, accepting that I am an dreadful sister, a terrible friend, an awful doctor, and a failing hero.


	34. Mothers and Friends: Part 2

The weeping stops about an hour and a half in. I become too tired to muster enough energy to continue on sobbing into my hands. I also slowly come to realize that there's no use wasting tears on how heartbroken I am about what my mother, brothers and Gavin said to me because what they said was all true. It's now become clear to me that no matter how hard I try I'm never going to be able to save Neal when I'm such a dreadful sister, a terrible friend, an awful doctor and most importantly, a failing hero. Each one of them said so. These people know me the best. I place all of my trust in them. How could they be wrong? Why would they ever say those things if not to help me? The answer is clear: they were telling the truth.

The answer to how any of them were even here still eludes me. I'm not exactly sure how any of them got here, especially my mother and Gavin who are supposedly dead. I feel like I'm supposed to be elated that I've just seen my mother and Gavin both alive and well, but it somehow doesn't feel like it. It doesn't feel real. And on top of that, there's still this nagging memory of Peter telling me something about this house causing hallucinations, but it couldn't have been that. But they couldn't have been hallucinations. They looked so real and solid… Well, except for the time my hand passed through my mother, of course.

I eventually give up on trying to figure that one out and instead begin to repeat all of the conversations I had with each of them over and over again in my head. I run over their words like jagged pieces of a mirror, as they scar my hands and reflect back the worst parts of me. I no longer weep about it but I still feel immensely heartbroken about it. I feel like I've been shattered into a million different pieces and I'm just sitting on this cold floor trying, and failing, to pick them up. I turn within myself. I just go over every single painful word in my mind, reliving the heartbreak.

I realize eventually that by turning within myself, I've lost all concept of time. I slowly become aware that I'm very cold and very cramped and that the room has gotten impossibly dark. Somewhere in the back of my mind I figure out that I must have spent the whole day here. My muscles ache to move but I feel as if I can't make myself. I'm too weighed down by the old wounds my family and Gavin have opened up. I spend a while longer going back and forth between wanting to get up and move or stay seated and wallow in my self-pity. I eventually force myself to stand and I feel myself begin to walk towards the door, slowly and painfully. I make my way down the long echoey hallways, built with slate and lit with small candles. In the hallway, it's even colder and I put the hood of my cloak up and do up the buttons.

I finally make it out of the mansion and find Ash in the stables of the property. He whinnies at me and attempts to rest his head on my shoulder, sensing my distress but I snatch myself away from him. I know that it's unfair to Ash and I think that I can at least try to be a decent person, even if I'm not one. I go back to him and let him nuzzle my neck. I had a small sliver of hope that he would make me feel even marginally better, but I'm left still as distressed as before.

I swing myself up onto Ash and urge him down the winding rocky road towards the village. It's mild out tonight and the stars are clear up ahead. The village is a more of a port town really, nestled between the foothills of the mountains, looking over a fjord. Peter says it means we're getting closer to the Northern Sea, closer to Neal. Since that plan's out the window, all the location of the town means is that the air is salty and rich, smelling heavily of the ocean.

We quickly get into town and I'm about to turn Ash towards the inn where we're staying, until I realize that I'll have to see Peter once I'm there. I don't know if I can handle being near him, let alone anyone who may realize just how truly upset I am. Instead, I turn Ash towards the stables near the docks. I pay the stable boy handsomely to keep Ash as long as possible and set off towards the winding set of docks.

The darkness and cold in the wind help me to take a few breaths where I don't feel like I'm going to dissolve into tears. The gentle bobbing of the docks and the lapping of the waves against all the ships helps to tear my focus away from all that happened today. I finally get some form of reprieve from all my heartache. I no longer feel as if I'm about to be overcome by weeping. I don't feel any less miserable, but I do feel, like for just a few moments, that it's somewhat tolerable.

I'm able to push my mother's, brothers' and Gavin's face out of my mind long enough to take a second to begin to cast some doubt on what I truly saw. Gavin and my mother are long dead. I quite literally put Gavin into his grave. I know he's dead, but my mother's death, along with my father's, I never registered. At a certain point, I just decided that they probably already were and began to accept the fact that I was never going to see them again. I never accepted their deaths, never felt as if they were truly gone. I suppose that's why I'm having a hard time believing that what I saw today wasn't real. I suppose I still haven't accepted my parents's deaths as a fact and today, even though it was awful, added to that lack of acceptance. I still don't know how any of it occurred or how I saw my mother or Gavin. It still doesn't make any sense to me. The only thing that I know for sure is that they must have been telling the truth. If it was just a figment of my imagination or truly my loved ones come back from the dead, it had to be the truth.

And just like that, the overwhelming heartbreak and guilt is back again. It hits me just like the wind whipping off the water. I have to stop walking for a moment and lean against the railing of the dock. I wrap my hand around it and even through my glove, the metal is icy cold. It grounds me to the memories of what happened today. Their words come back at full force, glancing off of my already bruised and battered heart. All I can see in my mind's eye is my mother's complete and utter disappointment in me, her rejection of me as her one and only daughter, the lack of love and understanding. It makes me feel as if I'm falling backwards off a cliff, seeing the ledge and my salvation slowly slipping away from me as I plummet. My bones ache for the time all those years ago when she held me tenderly and rocked me back and forth and told me nursery stories. How I crave those times, to be a small child again in my mother's arms again, for her to love me again. I just wanted to be the daughter my mother had hoped for: a protective sister, a capable doctor, a protector, a good and kind person. I've survived a hundred years, three realms, a villainous boy king to finally see my mother again and to realize that I am so far from anything that she'd hoped. I've failed at everything I've set out to do. I've failed to save Neal twice, I'm working with the person who ripped me away from my family, I couldn't save Gavin or Declan or any of the lost boys, I've given up my education so I'm nowhere near being a competent doctor. I'm nowhere close to being the person my mother hoped for I'd be. No wonder she wouldn't accept me as her daughter.

I finally push off the railing and trudge along the docks, going further and further out into the fjord. Perhaps moving will get my mind off my mother, but instead it turns to Gavin. Seeing him today just reopened all my heartbreak over his death that I had carefully stashed away. It feels like I've just found him small and lifeless in his room. I can feel my heart breaking all over again, the guilt washing over me. To see him again standing before me, telling me that his death was my fault, that I was never a good friend to him makes me feel like I can't breathe. I've spent decades trying to convince myself that his death was out of my hands. I was just lying to myself the whole time. I was a fool to think that after all I've failed at, that this one time it hadn't been my fault. Gavin was just the first of many that I failed to save, although he was arguably the most important to me, the one who I loved and that Peter did, too. I felt not just a friendship with him, but a motherly connection and affection. It makes the words he threw at me even more painful. _It's good you aren't a mother, because you'd make a terrible one,_ he said to me. I know it's true. I know I wouldn't be a good mother, even though I desperately want to be one and the thought of it makes me doubt whether or not I should give up my life for Neal. It shakes me down to the very core to know that the one thing I want to be I would just screw up like everything else I've done in my life. It's just like my brothers said, that I can't protect my family. How would I ever be able to protect my own children?

Neal is even a father. He can see straight through all my excuses and see that I'm just a little girl incapable of saving anyone. John and Michael gave up so much for me just so that I could run off on a quest where I didn't have a snowball's chance in hell accomplishing. I've let them down so much. I finally had the chance to have my family together and I just ran off and gave it all up. What a dreadful sister I truly am. What an awful friend. What a wretched protector. What a-

Suddenly, a strong hand clamps down on my shoulder and I nearly jump out of my skin. I shriek and struggle out of the hand's grasp, turning around to find Peter standing before me. The same cold expression is on his face as the last time I saw him. His jaw is set in a hard line and his eyes are steely.

"Are you trying to scare me half to death?" I demand, wiping furiously at my wet face. I hadn't even realized I was crying.

"Only before you freeze yourself half to death out here," Peter quips. "It's freezing out here. It feels just like winter in the south." He pauses for a second and then remembers why he ripped me out of my revery. "What are you doing out here anyway?" he demands. He looks down at me expectantly. His eyebrows furrow deeply as he sees that I've been crying. He looks down at his hands then, awkwardly, not knowing how to address my obvious distress and then looks back up and asks roughly, "Have you been crying?"

I have no desire to talk to him about this, even though I know that he's painfully aware of what it feels like to be a disappointment to one's mother. "How did you even find me?" I ask, trying desperately to distract him.

Peter shrugs. "I was on my way back to the mansion to find you when I spotted Ash in the stables by the docks. Asked the stable hand which way you went."

"Fine, alright."

"I repeat. What are you doing out here? And why have you been crying?"

"It's none of your concern whether or not I've been crying. And if you really must know, I'm out for a walk. That's all."

Peter rolls his eyes at me. "Wendy, if you were any good at hiding your emotions, it would have been significantly harder for me to learn how to push your buttons in the short amount of time that I did," he says. "I know you're distressed."

"I don't want to talk about it," I clip out.

"You hallucinated, didn't you?" he asks mildly. "I knew I shouldn't have left you in such a state. You just make me so angry sometimes," he observes.

I spark of anger bursts in me. "They weren't hallucinations, Peter. There's no way," I tell him.

"They would have looked healthy and perfectly normal," he explains.

"They were real," I repeat again, trying to convince him, but also myself.

"They most likely told you your worst fears or beliefs," he goes on.

"Stop it," I warn.

"They would have switched very fast, appeared out of thin air."

"Stop it!"

"They weren't real."

"Yes, they were."

"You've got to believe me, Wendy. They were not real. That house feeds off of strong, negative and creates hallucinations to exacerbate them," Peter explains.

His words make me even angrier than I was before with him. "Why don't you ever tell me these things?" I shout. "You never tell me anything!" I beat my hands against his chest. My fists don't seem to phase Peter at all, because he simply catches both of them in one hand.

He lowers his face to mine and speaks quietly and quickly. His face is serious, but it holds a softness to it that I hadn't notice before. "Look, Wendy. Don't yell at me about not telling you anything. We both know that I did. Moreover, we also know this isn't about whether or not I told you anything," he says with a hint of warmth to his voice. "I don't know what you saw in there, but it wasn't real. They were hallucinations. You have to believe me." He looks down at me, desperately trying to get me to believe him. I stare back up at him, half-wanting to believe him, half-wanting to shout and tell him he's a liar. I search his eyes and try to find a way to explain to him what I saw, to make him believe.

"I saw Gavin," I blurt. The wind that was whipping off the water seems to stop immediately as Peter's eyes go wide and the words I'm sure he was about to use to convince me that my family and Gavin weren't real die in his throat. For the first time in a long time, I see the young man who just lost Gavin, who had his heart torn out and stamped on because he was caught between keeping his power and keeping his friend. Peter looks as if he's about to run back to the mansion to find Gavin this very instant. Then his eyes clear and he shakes himself. He drops my hands and takes a step back.

"No, you didn't," he says quietly, almost to himself. He shakes his head and looks up at me. "You didn't see Gavin. You didn't see any of what you saw today. It wasn't real."

"But it was," I say again. "Oh, Peter. He looked just like he did in my memories. He looked so healthy and beautiful and alive." I sigh. "Looking at him I didn't even care how much what he was saying hurt me. I felt a piece of my heart being restored seeing him, even as he broke it down again." I run my hands through my hair and look out towards the harbour. "I felt that way seeing all of them. My brothers. Oh, God, Peter, I saw my mother. She looked just like she did when I was a child. She broke my heart and mended it all with one look." I look back to Peter. "How can a hallucination do that? How could it not have been real?"

Peter just shakes his head. "Your mother is dead, Wendy. And so is Gavin. There's no way they could have been real," he says sadly. "Now, come on, let's go back to the inn and get you warmed up." He reaches for me but I flinch away.

"I can't," I tell him. I can't imagine going back to the inn. I would feel so suffocated by all my thoughts and memories. I wouldn't be able to stand it. I need to just focus on my breathing and push today out of my head.

There's a pause then a hesitant "Do you want to talk about it?"

I scoff. "No," I say. "I'm not inclined to talk to you about my issues. Especially, when you're one of them." Peter looks unimpressed with my response so I continue you on, "You wouldn't understand."

"About disappointing one's mother and losing Gavin and not being a good sibling? Why, no, of course I wouldn't know about that," Peter says sarcastically.

"I just can't do it, Peter," I sigh. Just thinking about it makes me want to burst back into tears all over again. I close my eyes and rub my temples. "I just can't."

"Why not?"

I let out a sharp laugh that turns into a strangled crying. "Because it might just break my heart all over again," I whisper. This time I can't swallow the tears and they start rolling down my cheeks, slowly and steadily. I try to swallow the sobs, too, but they bubble out of me and before I know it, I'm weeping in the middle of the dock in the middle of the night in front of Peter. All the memories that I was trying to push out come rushing back in and I'm overwhelmed by every painful word and glance. All I can remember is their hurtful words.

I hear hesitant steps towards me, a pause, and then I feel Peter wrapping his arms around me. He stands there awkwardly for a moment, his arms draped around me uncomfortably until he finally gathers me up fully into his arms and embraces me tightly. I feel frozen in his arms for a second before melting into him. I bury my face in his coarse wool cloak, taking comfort in how warm and solid and real he is. I ball my hands into his shirt and press myself against him, letting the tears wash over me in waves as he holds onto me tightly, anchoring me.

He rubs small, comforting circles on my back and rests his chin on the crown of my head. "They weren't real, Wendy," he whispers over again and again. He repeats it like a mantra, he says it like a prayer. "None of what they said was the truth." For the first little while, I'm too focused on what they said to even listen to him, but as he continues to hold me and whisper words of comfort and rub my back, I begin to register what he's saying. I begin to dare to believe him. I let myself think for one moment that perhaps all that they said wasn't real, that I'm not truly a failure.

Finally, after what seems like forever, Peter shifts me in his arms and asks at length, "Do you think you're ready to tell me now?"

I nod into his chest. "I think so," I say into the crook of his neck. I take a shaky step out of his embrace and walk over to the railing. I lean against it and look down into the black water, churning beneath me. Peter takes his place beside me, his shoulder bumping into mine. I take a deep breath and say, "I saw Gavin first." I swallow. "He told me that his death was my fault. That I couldn't save him because I'm a bad protector and friend… He also said that it's a good thing that I'm not a mother and probably won't ever be because I'd make a terrible one." I let out a shaky laugh that turns into a few strangled sobs. Peter grabs at my gloved hand and squeezes it tightly.

"Gavin's death was in no way your fault, Wendy. Felix killed him. You are in now way at fault," he tells me. "You saved him that night when the Lost Boys wanted to kill him. If it hadn't been for any of what you did, he wouldn't have lived through that night. You were a good friend to him, and a good saviour, and even a good mother figure to him." He looks at me seriously, with an open and kind expression. I feel like I should be shocked or surprised at the look on his face but it almost seems completely natural on him. "You're not a failing hero."

"You told me I was, once, remember?" I tell him. "The night you killed Declan." I sigh. "Another friend I couldn't save." I look down at the water and nod to myself. "I am a failing hero. I couldn't save Gavin or Declan or any of them."

"You saved them," Peter blurts. "Gavin was killed ultimately, but you still saved him. And Declan and the rest of them… You don't know it but you saved them."

I whip my head and look at Peter, angrily. "How can you say that? You murdered them!"

Peter shakes his head quickly. "After Gavin, I promised myself never again would anything like that happen." He looks down at his hands and sighs. "At the first, I didn't know what I was doing it, but I did it anyway. It took me a long time to fully understand what I was doing and even longer to understand why." He nods and looks back up at me. "Any Lost Boy I figured out that you took a fancy too, I got off the island. I helped them escape. I took them home to their families." I feel like my jaw is about to break off, it fell open so quickly. "Your friendship saved them all, Wendy. You were saving them without even knowing it. You are in no way a failing hero. I'm sorry I let you believe that for so long."

"Are you serious?" I ask, completely aghast. My heart feels so light I feel like it's about to burst right out of my chest. I let out my first laugh in so long and it rings out through my body, making me feel so much better. I look up at Peter, with the biggest smile on my face that I can muster. "Thank you so much, Peter. Thank you a thousand times. I'll never be able to express how thankful I am for what you've done." I reach over to his hand and squeeze it. Peter looks down at me, beaming. Seeing his face, I almost forget why I was even upset in the first place.

"You're welcome, Wendy," Peter says softly. "And for the record, I also think you'd make a good mother. I hope you get the chance to be one someday." The compliment, though it makes my heart beam, brings me back to the beginning of the conversation. I let out a sigh and remember everyone's words.

I swallow. "It made me doubt saving Neal," I tell him. Peter raises his eyebrow at me. "I considered giving up on Neal so that I could get that chance to be a mom… It's all I ever wanted to be. More than a doctor or a hero or anything. Just to be a mother, to love my own child unconditionally and infinitely. To have their small hands grasp tightly to my finger, to feel them warm on my chest, to watch them grow up into wonderful people." I run my hands through my hair. "It was selfish of me to think that way. Especially considering what a dreadful sister I am to Neal, Michael and John."

"I'm going to assume you hallucinated that, too," Peter decides.

"I left Michael and John to go on a hopeless quest for Neal. This is the second time I've tried to save him and I can't do it. I just ripped the family further apart. I am a dreadful sister," I tell him.

"That's not true," Peter says seriously. "I dealt with Michael and John. They wouldn't have spent a hundred years working for me if you were a dreadful sister. And you wouldn't have survived Neverland if you weren't a good sister either. They all know you're the best sister they are ever going to get." Peter looks at me out of the corner of his eye. "I know what it's like to be a bad sibling and I can assure you that you aren't one."

"I tried to help Neal and twice I've torn my family apart and-"

"Wendy, no. You did not tear your family apart. You gave up your life to save Neal the first time. And this time, you're already willing to do that again. You are doing the exact opposite of tearing your family apart." Peter sighs deeply. "You're keeping them together, you're mending them."

I look at Peter hopefully. "You really think so?"

"I know so," Peter assures. "You're a good sister, a good friend, a good protector and saviour. It's painful for me to think that these hallucinations really made you believe that."

I let out a hollow laugh. "Well, it's a lot more painful for me," I tell him. "Especially with my mother telling me all those things."

"What did she say?"

"She told me no daughter of hers would ever do all that I've done: fail to save her brothers, her friends, get captured, work with the enemy. She said I was foolish to even consider being a mother because I'd make an awful one." I let out a shaky breath. "She said I wasn't her daughter. She said she didn't even want to remember that she once considered me a child of her own." I let out another shaky breath before giving back into the tears. They roll steadily down my face and I feel myself getting dangerously close to dissolving into tears again. Suddenly, I feel Peter pull me towards him and he tucks me tightly into his arms again. He rests his chin on my head and rocks me, soothing me.

"That was not your mother, bird," he says with so much conviction I feel as he truly knew my mother. "Your mother would never say those things. She would have been so, so proud of all you've done. You could never stop being her daughter." I just continue to weep into his chest. Peter holds onto me a little tighter and whispers, "You once told me that you can never stop a mother from loving her child, and I still believe that. If your mother was anything like you, she would never, ever stop loving you or believing you or ever be disappointed in all you've done and become. No mother would be disappointed in you when you're this wonderful, glowing heroine with the biggest, brightest heart in the world. You are a wonderful friend, a devoted sister, an amazing doctor, a triumphant saviour. Your mother would have been so, so proud of you, Wendy. I know she'd think you'd make a wonderful mother." Peter lets out a long sigh. "I'm sorry I left you there. I shouldn't have. I shouldn't have let you experience this." He shakes his head sadly. He pulls back and looks down at me seriously. "That was not your mother in there, Wendy. Whatever you saw was not the woman who raised you," he tells me, his eyes pleading me to believe him. I nod quickly, my lips tight. "You've got to believe me that none of what you were told today was the truth."

"Believing you won't stop it from hurting," I tell him. "I can still see their faces, the coldness in their eyes. I begged them to forgive me and they refused. I felt like I couldn't breathe, like my heart had stopped." I look shyly up at Peter, knowing I'm most likely describing exactly what he felt when he asked for forgiveness from me. "I'm sorry I was so cruel to you, when you asked for forgiveness… And I'm sorry I said that comforting you that night was a mistake. It wasn't. It won't ever be. I'm sorry I said it just to hurt you. If you had told me that all that I've said about my own mother and my fears and doubts, I would be so desperately heartbroken."

Peter nods knowingly. "Thank you for saying that. I understand why you did all you did and I forgive you for it." He pauses for a moment, thinking. "And I'm sorry for not apologizing, when I asked for your forgiveness. It was a selfish thing to do, and I wish I could redo it. Perhaps when you aren't so upset, or when I have the time to find a way to put into words how I'm so, so deeply sorry for all I've done to you."

"I'd like that," I say softly.

"As for believing me," Peter says, shaking himself away from his plea for forgiveness, "I know it won't stop it from hurting, because those fears have always been somewhere in you. They wouldn't have hurt this much if they hadn't been, but if you take a moment to see that there isn't any truth in them, it will hurt a little bit less and it will make healing a lot easier." He brushes back a piece of hair from my face. "That pain will always be there, the doubts and fears and lies, but accepting that it's not true will make them easier to get over. Seeing and believing that there is no truth in those hallucinations will make healing easier, I promise. And I also promise that if it does still hurt, which it probably will, I'll still be here to lean on. I'll take some of the pain from you. I promise." He pulls back for a second and looks at me seriously. "So I'll ask you again do you believe me that it wasn't real?"

I do quickly, tightlipped. "Yes, I do. I believe you." I lean back into his chest, finally giving up some of the heavy pain I've been carrying since the mansion. It feels amazing to know that Peter is here to help me heal and lessen the pain. He feels like a balm to my heart. I grasp onto him tighter, trying to make him feel how I feel. "Thank you," I tell him. "For everything."

"I'd do anything for you," Peter says quietly. He presses a soft, warm kiss on the crown of my head. I snake my arms around him and pull him in closely. Right now, the possibility of forgiving Peter doesn't seem impossible. It seems attainable, plausible. I'm about to tell him so when a sharp voice interrupts me and a bright light is shone in my eyes. I turn around wildly to find the intruder.

"All right, you two lovebirds," calls a gruff voice. "This dock is off-limits at this time of night and I'll not have you mucking about near the _Jolly-_ "

My eyes open wide as I register who is standing before me. As I recognize him, he seems to being doing the same for me and Peter. Peter and I jump apart as we realize who is before us. All three of us stare at each other in utter disbelief, all of us grappling for words.

Captain Hook is the first one to compose himself. "What in the hell is this?" He drops his lantern to the floor and reaches for his sword. He points to Peter with his hook. "You're supposed to be dead!"

Peter just looks at Hook completely dumbfounded. I finally get myself enough together to manage, "Don't hurt him!" Hook swings on me, just as confused.

"You," he says shaking his hook at me. "You two are supposed to be- but then you were- you were- what the hell?" He lets go of the hilt of his sword and runs his hand across his face. "What the bloody hell?"

"We can explain," I try and tell Hook calmly.

"What the hell?"

"You just need to calm down."

"What the hell?"

"Hook, please."

"What the hell?"

"Hook!" Peter grabs Hook by the collar and shakes him once. "Calm yourself! This can all be explained. You just need to stop saying 'what the hell'!" Hook nods frantically and Peter releases him. Hook staggers backwards and just looks at us, completely bewildered. He looks between Peter and me as if we're an elephant having tea and cookies with Hook's grandmother. Though, looking at it from his perspective, I suppose finding Wendy Darling and her long-time archenemy holding each other tenderly on a dock in the middle of the mountains would constitute this type of bewilderment. I just suppose I've had a long while to get used to the set up.

Hook clears his throat. "Are we just going to stand around here in the dark or are you going to tell me what's going on?" And we do. We tell him all about how Peter came back from the dead, how I left home to find Neal, how I tried to use the star to find Neal, how Neal and Gold are now bonded with one heart, how we're going to have to find another heart to give Neal, and how it will most likely be mine. Hook just looks completely past bewildered. He shakes his head after we finish explaining everything to him. "I never thought I'd live to see the day when Wendy Darling and Peter Pan teamed up to find Baelfire." He lets out a hollow laugh. "Well, isn't that just so funny. I hope you two see the irony in all of this."

"Yes, well, it seems the universe has a sense of humour," Peter puts dryly. He lounges against the railing, losing the softness he just showed to me. I suppose he has to at least give the appearance that he's still a menacing villain.

"We'd really appreciate it if you didn't broadcast this," I tell him. "It'll make getting around a lot more difficult and we really need to find Baelfire as soon as possible."

Hook just shrugs. "I suppose so. I mean, it's not as if I'm around lots of people at this point. It's just me and my ship," he tells us. Though there's mirth in his voice, I can also tell that there is sadness.

"Thank you," I say.

"Not a problem," he says. "And besides, I'm trying to go the straight and narrow right now. It'll be good practice." My eyes dart to Peter to see if he's registering that the two villains to come out of Neverland have now started to try and turn their lives around. I'm not sure Hook even fully appreciates how ironic this entire situation is. The three of us, having spent decades all each individually warring with each other to now find ourselves in an unknown realm, all tired, weary and making peace and trying to do good.

"Now, be on your way, you two. It's late and you're trespassing," he chides.

"It is," Peter agrees. "Let's go." He shakes Hook's hand firmly, clapping him on the shoulder. It's such a bizarre image to see the two men who I only ever saw fighting in the entire time I've known both of them being civil towards each other.

I walk up to Hook and also take his hand. "Goodbye, Captain," I say. I try and give him a small smile which he returns in full.

"Goodbye, Wendy," he returns. "I wish you safe travels and luck in saving Baelfire. He's a good man and I'd hate to see you lose him after all you've done." He's obviously completely unaware of what I've just been through, but his words are what I needed to hear. He then leans down and whispers, "I know Pan seems trustworthy now, but he always has an ulterior motive. Do not forget that."

I look back at Hook and for the first time realize something. "I trust him," I blurt, loud enough for Peter to hear. Peter swings his head around in total bewilderment and Hook looks just as confused as before. "I trust him," I repeat. Then I realize just how much a revelation is and I try and brush off the seriousness of it by adding, "And besides, I can handle Peter. I always have."

"You have," Hook agrees and Peter nods behind him. He lets go off my hand and then lets me go. Peter and I then make our way back through the winding maze of docks and up to the warm stables, where we retrieve our horses and eventually make our way back up to the inn. Once we burst into the room, I immediately feel as if I'm being pulled into my bed. It's a struggle for me to even change into my night clothes.

Peter helps me settle into bed and then brings me a glass of water. He sets it on my bedside table and then pauses, hovering at the side of my bed. He looks nervous for once. He purses his lips and then says, "Bird?"

"Yes?"

"Was that the truth back there? About you truly trusting me?" He looks like a small child looking for their older siblings approval.

I manage a small smile. I nod and grin, "I think today your proved that you know what is the truth and what's not." Peter still looks down at me, still obviously only half-believing me. "I do, Peter. I do trust you."

"Thank you, Wendy," he whispers. He then blows out the candle and settles into his own bed as I settle into my mind. I sink into the soft bed, almost immediately falling asleep until a thought occurs to me. I turn on my side, towards Peter's bed. In the moonlight I can make out his features, soft with sleep. "Peter?"

"Mhm?"

"You were very kind today," I tell him. "Extremely so, actually. You saved me tonight. You were a true friend." Peter looks over at me, beaming. "Thank you very, very much."

He grins at me. "I told you before, bird. I'm trying." He smiles at me before turning over and falling right to sleep. I follow suit and for once, both of us sleep well through the whole night.


	35. Trust

I wake up in the early morning in a cold sweat, heart pounding, ripping myself out of distorted dreams of the people I've left behind. I sit up in bed and immediately a wave of nausea hits me, just as hard as the harsh words from my dreams and hallucinations from last night do. I rush the bathroom and retch into the toilet, but the bitterness that's in me refuses to leave. Instead I just sit with my head against the cool tile floor, letting the memories from last night wash over me, just as the nausea continues to do.

Everything from last evening feels like a bad dream come true. The realization that the only hope for Neal is my death, the hallucinations that even if they weren't real held some form of truth that's in me, and then blurting that I trust Pan. Back in home with my brothers, they would sometimes tell me stories of the few nights where they were given leave by Pan before my return and would go out and drink, make terrible drunken decisions and then wake up in the morning regretting said terrible drunken decisions. I feel like that now. Everything feels like a bad dream that I can't escape. I want to try and convince myself that there may still be hope for Neal that the hallucinations and my confession of trust in Pan don't hold any truth, but even my seemingly unbreakable optimism seems as if it's finally started to crumble.

I've got to accept that to save Neal, I have to rip a hole in my family to do it. There's no way that I'll come out of this as a true hero who actually saves anyone. I won't even save myself. I leave my brothers all behind, making myself into a sister who abandons her brothers simply because I'm incapable of saying one of them. I'll never even get the chance to screw up being a mother or doctor.

I'm doomed to fail.

And on top of that, I'm not even failing graciously. I've enlisted the help of the cause of my prior unhappiness and actually blurted out that I trust him and called him a friend. How could I have let myself slip so far? _Don't be good, Wendy_ , I remind myself. I simply just gave the villain an ego boost. He'll think he's one step closer to redemption. There's no way I'll ever forgive him. No way.

I press my forehead harder onto the tiles, hoping that if I press hard enough into it I'll just melt away and perhaps I'll have a go at being a decent tile on the floor of a seedy inn, instead of trying and consistently failing to be any semblance of a hero. The cold floor just further grounds me into the frigid reality that I've woken up to today. I fell asleep feeling so loved and optimistic, only to wake up and realize that my world is crumbling around me and my hope with it.

"Wendy, what are you doing down there?" I jerk my head up and I'm meet with a pair of pale feet, which I can only guess are attached to my villainous travelling companion who currently believes that I trust him. I don't even know if I trust him.

I push myself up off the floor and try to get to my feet as quickly and gracefully as possible, but end up tripping over the long hem of my sleep pants and end up almost toppling into Peter. His arms grasp me firmly and I'm jolted back to last night on the docks and for a moment, I feel safe and secure and at peace with Peter so close. Reliving the feeling makes me further doubt my belief that it was wrong to say I trust him.

"Nothing," I clip out, trying my hardest not to look at his face. I can already tell by his stance and the warmth radiating off of him, Peter's still feeling wonderful about my confession of trust. Unsurprising that we're on different ends of the spectrum about this as well as a whole plethora of other things. I suppose that happens when you're the protagonist to his antagonist.

He puts a firm hand on my shoulder, trying to still my fidgeting as I try to find a way around him, but he's stubbornly (and most likely, strategically) blocking the door. "Bird, are you alright?" His voice is concerned and I can almost imagine the sincere look of worry on his face, how his blue eyes would shine down on me, how his mouth would pull into a firm line, how his eyebrows would furrow together, creating deep lines on his forehead. I bat away the image.

"Just don't touch me," I bite out and push him away, managing to maneuver myself around him and out of the washroom. Grey darlight pours into the room and I realize that I must have spent several hours lying sulkily on the bathroom floor. Pathetic.

"Is this about last night?" Peter asks, I can hear his voice a few feet behind me, probably leaning lazily against doorway to the bathroom.

"No." Yes.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he offers softly.

"No, it's nothing, Pan" I tell him shortly. I rip open my bag and begin to search through it, trying to find my warm, burgundy dress, knowing that it'll be just as freezing as last night and I'd like to be prepared for it. I grab the dress and my comb and head back to the washroom. "I just want to get moving as soon as possible."

As predicted, Peter is slouching in the doorway and I don't dare look at him. I stand before him, easily carefully trained on the sink behind him and wait for him to move. I can feel his eyes looking down at me expectantly, waiting for the truth.

"Can you move please?" I clip out.

"Not until you tell me what's wrong," he tries to coax.

"Move. Please," I warn in a low voice.

"I'm not going to move unless you tell me-"

"For God's sake, Pan, get out of my way and stop pretending you're capable of concern for another human being or have you completely forgotten your half a millennium of tearing lives apart?" I finally burst. The words that just tumbled out of my mouth were beyond cruel. I can feel my heart shrivel up just saying them. I just don't know how else to express my crushing guilt and regret, on top of trying to still cling to the plan of not being good to Peter, the same plan that seems to go out the window almost daily.

I break my hard glare at the sink and look up to Peter. I see his calm facade shatter and his cold, hard expression replace it. I've gotten my desired reaction as he moves out of the doorway, but it makes me feel like I'm sinking down into a cavernous pit. I bite my lip, almost regretting it. I look away, immediately feeling dirty for how I've just acted, but I don't retract it.

 _Don't be good, Wendy._

He continues to glower down at me before turning on his heel and stalking out of the room, slamming the door behind him. I wince at the loud sound and weakly go in and change, not feeling nearly as angry with him as I was before but even more disappointed than I was in myself. I hate forcing myself to do this, to not be kind to him, and keep up the facade of a hero without weakness. Because the truth of the matter is I'm a shit hero and the only thing I feel I can control at this point is how I act towards my villain but it never feels right or good. It always leaves a bitter taste in my mouth and heavy feeling in my soul.

I shut the door behind me and quickly wash myself before changing and then staring at myself in the mirror. My gold coloured eyes look drained of any light or optimism today as I gaze rigidly into the mirror. They look sad and hopeless. My skin is pale and holds hints of grey. My mouth is set in a harsh line and my hair hangs pathetically around my face in flat, soaking ringlets. I look like a sorry excuse for a girl, and an even sorrier excuse for a saviour.

I pull myself away from the counter and don't even bother putting my hair into any sort of braid or bun today. What's the point? I'll be gone before long and no one will much care about how I look then or even now.

I simply exit the washroom and sit dejected by the window, my head propped up on my fists as my elbows rest on my knees. The view itself, if I was in a better, mood would be quite something. The mountains and the fjord, alive with the colours of the spring all enveloped in a grey, thick fog. Right now, it just seems overwhelmed by the fog and the waters of the fjord seem trapped, unable to make out into the open ocean.

I stay in this position for a while and remain in it even when I hear the door open and shut none too softly behind me and set of footsteps approach me from the back. I stay still even as I hear the rustle of Peter's cloak as he swings it off his shoulders and tosses it onto the bed. I remain unmoving as I hear him shift on his feet and let out an angry huff.

"Do you know how I knew something was wrong almost immediately?" he asks gruffly from behind me. I let out a deep breath and fix my gaze of a tiny fishing vessel that's just about to disappear into the fog. "You called me Pan." Another pause. "You only call me Pan when you're upset with me."

I squeeze my eyes shut and open them, trying to steel myself against all the hurtful things I'm going to try and push out of myself. I turn around to Peter, trying to make my face look unimpressed and passive. "What a wonderful observation," I drawl. "How astute."

Peter looks down at me with his classic blank gaze and for a wild moment, I'm jealous of his ability to make that face. "You flinch every time you say something mean," he bites out. "You're shit at being mean, but you continue to do it for some reason unbeknownst to me."

"I'm mean because I hate you," I say, but the words feel hollow. I push myself to be unkind and it feels like I'm running my fingers through knives.

 _Don't be good, Wendy._ I repeat it like a mantra. I say it like a prayer. I force myself to do it.

"You trust me though," he says, quirking his head. I flinch at his words, remembering last night and all the pain and problems that go along with it.

"I was not in any proper mental state last night," I tell him shortly. "That was a mistake."

His eyes flash at my words and I can see him clench and unclench his jaw. "It's unfair to say it's a mistake whenever you show me kindness. It's a cruel thing to do, to retract it, once you feel guilty and conflicted about it."

"You don't deserve any kindness," I bite out, turning back to the window. "It's always going to be a mistake."

 _Don't be good, Wendy._ I repeat it like a mantra. I say it like a prayer. I force myself to do it.

"Don't turn away from me when you're going to be so hateful. At least look at me when you're insulting me," Peter growls out. I remain in my seated position, facing the window. Pan stalks in front of the window seat and sits down heavily, blocking my view. I immediately turn my face away from him, like a misbehaving child.

"Leave me be," I clip out.

"No because -for some reason I can't quite figure out- I'd like to know what's truly bothering you, because I know you and you wouldn't act like this unless there was something that was truly wrong," Peter says harshly, but the emotion behind his words is anything but harsh. He leans forward, coming close enough to me that I can smell his fresh, soapy scent.

"There's no reason. This is just how enemies should act towards each other. Do I have to remind you that that's what we are or are you still caught up in the delusion that this is some upside down universe where I'll be forgiving you at any point in my short, painful life?" The words are harsh and taste so sour that I almost spit them out, in attempt to retract them. Peter immediately pushes himself away from me, as if the words have hurt him. He looks as if he's been slapped and I feel my whole body stinging, as if my soul reached out and hit him.

 _Don't be good, Wendy._ I repeat it like a mantra. I say it like a prayer. I force myself to do it.

"Look, Wendy. I'm really trying here and it's painful when you're acting like this," he bites out. I can tell he's one well-placed insult from flying off the handle. I steal myself and wait until he's done ranting to deliver the final blow. "This isn't who you 're not mean or cruel or hateful-"

"Well, I'm shit at being a good person so I might as well just as much of a bastard as you are," I blurt. It was not nearly as eloquent as I thought it would be, and doesn't have the desired effect either. Peter's eyes widen in understanding and he nods to himself.

"This is about not being able to save Neal, isn't it?"

"No. I'm still saving Neal-"

"But you're just planning on dying afterwards," Peter interrupts.

"You're the last person in this universe and the next that I'd ever want to talk about this with," I grind out.

"Well, you seemed pretty keen last night," Peter smirks. I glare at him, putting all of the anger I can muster in my gaze before standing up and turning to I don't know where, but just away from him.

Peter immediately shoots up from his seat and grabs my wrist, tugging me back towards him. "Stop! Let go of me!" His grip on my wrist loosens but he doesn't let go.

"You're not walking away from this," he tells me.

"Stop this! Stop pretending to be concerned about me! I don't want you helping me! Just let me be and let me deal with this on my own!" I twist my wrist out of his grasp and begin stalking towards the door, but he's in front of me, blocking my path before I even know it. I feel like screaming, remembering that he possesses enormous magic. Knowing this, I push against his chest, trying to move him, but he remains frozen in place. "Move!"

"No!" he shouts. "Don't you understand that I'm not letting you go until you're better!"

I push against him again. "Stop pretending you're capable of understanding another person, let alone helping them!"

"Well, I'm trying!"

"You suggested killing your own brother yesterday! You call that trying?"

 _Don't be good, Wendy._ I repeat it like a mantra. I say it like a prayer. I force myself to do it. _Don't be good, Wendy. Don't be good, Wendy. Don't be good, Wendy. Don't be good, Wendy._

"Well, at least I'm not a self-destructive little girl who believes the only way to help people is to only hurt herself! God, Wendy, when are you going to realize that we have other options? You aren't the failing saviour or a failure of any other type! So stop taking out all your angst and guilt and anguish out on me! I may deserve it, but I know you're too good of a person to even think for a second that how you're acting is right! I can see that every word pains you!" he rants to me. He lets out an angry breath and seems to deflate. "Be good, Wendy." He has no idea how important those words that he just uttered are to me.

I feel something break inside of me and an intense feeling of relief washes over me. His words feel like a balm to all the pain I've continually pushed myself through.

I can't be good, so I tried my hardest to be the opposite. I pushed myself to my limits, making myself harsh and bitter, knowing I can't be good. And here he is, standing before me, his icy eyes flashing, his eyebrows furrowed together, his mouth set into a concerned line, his hair falling clumsily across his forehead, believing with all this heart that I can be good, that I already am.

"I don't believe I am," I say in a small voice. I drop down on the bed, resting my head in my hands. Touching my face, I realize that my cheeks are wet and for what seems to be the umpteenth time during this journey, I realize I've been crying, not even remembering when I started. I feel the bed sink as he settles next to me.

"You mean you don't think you're good?" he asks, disbelief weighing down his voice. "How- how could you ever believe that?" A pause. "Do you still believe that the hallucinations last night were real?"

"No, no, I know they weren't real," I say, lifting my face out of my hands and wiping at my cheeks. "But they… what they said had truth in it. Maybe it was an exaggeration, but there was truth in it." I straighten up and turn to look at Peter. It's hard to meet his eyes when they're so filled with genuine concern. "If I save Neal, I'll fail to do anything else that I'm supposed to be good at. I've save Neal, but I won't save myself. I'll leave all my brothers behind. I won't even get a chance to be a mother." I shrug. "I'm not good, Peter."

Peter suddenly reaches out and grabs my hands. He holds them firmly in his lap, rubbing soothing circles on them with his thumb. He holds my eyes, his gaze far too sincere to break away. "You've got to trust me, Wendy," he says quietly. "You're good. You are so, so good. You're filled to the brim with kindness and love and compassion. And you'll always be good at anything you do- save being a mean person. You'll never be good at being cruel." I've no idea where it comes from but I feel a small laugh bubble out of me. "We'll find away to save both you and Neal. I swear on my heart, we'll find a way." He reaches out and tucks a curl behind my ear. His hand wanders to my cheek, cupping it gently. "You're so infinitely good, Wendy. You have to trust me on that. On everything else, I don't know if I would even trust myself. But trust me when I say you're good."

I place my hand over his. "I do trust you. I wasn't lying when I said it last night. I do."

"I know it doesn't solve anything, but you've got to believe that you're good," he says softly, leaning his forehead against mine. "I know it won't find us a new spell, or make a new heart for Neal appear out of thin air, or even get you to forgive me, but if there's one thing that we need to do is for you to know that you are good."

I smile softly and before I even know what I'm doing, I place my hand on his cheek and lift my face up to his. I press my lips softly against his mouth, not caring what I'm doing or why I'm even doing it.

His mouth is impossibly soft and sweet and tastes like rain and mint. I move my mouth across his, freezing for half a second because he hasn't moved. But just as I begin to retract, thinking I've made a mistake, his hands come up to my face and hold me there as he meets my lips. His mouth is soft and urgent on mine and I meet him there in the urgency and tenderness. I suck on his bottom lip and I can feel him moan into my mouth. His hands reach up and get tangled in my hair as his lips become more desperate against mine, his tongue slipping into my mouthing. I almost cry out at the pleasure and surprise and then quickly match his desperation, sliding my hands down his neck, my fingers ghosting across his hair and jaw. His hands in turn slide down and hold onto my waist, fingers digging into my hips, trying to keep me close.

The closeness and touch of him makes me impossibly happy and that's how we stay for a little while at least: happy, warm and forgetting about every issue threatening to break our bliss.


	36. A Way

"Instead of going up and over the mountain pass, we can go around the peninsula. It'll cut a day off the journey," I tell Peter, tracing my finger along the path I've planned out on the map: out of the fjord, around the peninsula and just barely up the foothills of the Northern Mountains. I'm rather impressed with myself that I've managed to navigate this good of a plan. I glance up at Peter over my large map and across the breakfast table, where my plate of fruit and pastries and cup of tea lie, half-eaten and mostly forgotten, and see that he hasn't even looked up at me.

Instead, he has his cheek propped up against his fist, completely engrossed in my copy of _Pride and Prejudice_. I lent it to him yesterday.

A small smile settles on my face, thinking back to yesterday. Of course, waking up yesterday morning, feeling like a complete failure still and lashing out at Peter, was hardly the best way to start off my day. However, after being consoled by Peter's words and mouth, it ended up being one of my best days in a long time. We decided together that perhaps after nearly two and a half months of constant travelling and arguing and hurting and searching, that a day of rest may do us both some good. And that's how we spent the day, Peter building a fire in the small fireplace in our room, playing cards by the window, sitting with shoulders (and hands, occasionally) touching as we watched the boats come in and out of the fjord, and eventually discovering that Peter is extremely well read and more than willing to have lively debates about all the books we have collectively read. And that was how I discovered he had never read my favourite book, _Pride and Prejudice_.

"It's about what you would do for your family and for yourself, about misjudging and misunderstanding people, seeing that perhaps their motives weren't as you expected all along… Forgiveness…" I had told him. Neither of us mentioned that all those things are tightly weaved into our own lives. Peter simply nodded to me and that's how we found ourselves, both sitting on the bay window overlooking the harbour, sitting so close that I could smell Peter's scent of rain and soap, feeling his warmth brush up against me, both of us looking down at the book as I flipped the pages, making sure he had finished reading.

"Elizabeth reminds me of you," Peter remarked to me, softly. I glanced up at him, my mouth curving into a small grin. His mouth was also turned up into a small smile. It's been harder ever since I kissed him to keep my eyes off his mouth. "She's a heroine," he affirmed. "Like you."

I closed my eyes and smiled. "Thank you," I told him, my hand resting on his forearm and squeezing it in thanks. I know he was, and still is, trying to make me see that I'm not a complete failure and that I'm a good sister and hero. It makes my heart warm just thinking about it. He's good at making me feel good.

But beyond that, after acknowledging that, a frigid sinking feeling crept into the outer edges of my mind. Not cold enough or big enough to ruin my good mood or make me pull back from Peter, but just enough to make me realize that this day we were having wasn't what our reality was or is or perhaps ever will be. Peter is still a villain, who ruined my life, tearing it apart bit by bit over an entire century, who kept me trapped on Neverland, who killed people, who abandoned his own brother because he didn't want the responsibility. The fact that he makes me feel warm and fuzzy and cared for doesn't fix anything, it doesn't make me forgive him or forget what he's done, it doesn't solve the issue of Neal. It won't stop any of the fights and arguments we'll have. It won't stop him from being angry with me or me being angry with him. It won't stop all of the hurt that's inevitably going to happen, no matter what. It doesn't fix anything.

For those precious few hours yesterday, we were just pretending that we weren't a hero and a villain, with a hundred years of hatred and hurt between us, who are only just now beginning to tolerate each other.

I press my lips together now, still watching Peter, his eyebrows furrowed as his eyes skim over the page. He's grown into his age. When he first came back, he always seemed repulsed and distraught about the fact that he had obviously been aged by his death. But now, he seems comfortable and accustomed to it. It seems even as if he likes looking like a handsome, twenty year old, with his broad shoulders, a strong jaw, impossibly dark hair and icy blue eyes. He doesn't even seem bothered anymore by the roughness of his stubble over his chin, jaw and cheeks.

"Peter," I say. "Did you hear me?"

He looks up at me, startled out of the book. "What?"

"I said that we can save a day of travel if we go around the fjord instead of up and over the mountain," I repeat. His eyes flash over the map and then up to my face. "Are you alright with that plan?"

He nods, simply. "Of course," he says. He glances over at my plate of barely half eaten food. He picks up a pastry and shoves it at me, the bread crumbling in his too-tight grip and splattering crumbs all over the map. "Eat it," he tells me gruffly, before realizing that perhaps his tactic was a little too rough and adds a small please to the end. I take the pastry and nibble on it as I continue to map out the way we'll go.

I'd be lying if I said that I didn't find the gesture endearing.

Soon enough, breakfast is over and we quickly go back to our room, pack up our few things and make our way over to the stables. We set up the horses and mount them swiftly and begin making our way through the foggy, sleepy little town and out of the fjord. We fall easily into a comfortable silence that stretches on through the first hours of the morning.

We continue along a road that follows the curve of the ocean beside us. The smell of the ocean hangs in the air; it's cold and crisp and smells heavily of salt and brine. It's a comfort, to hear the waves lapping up against the rocky edge of the water, to smell the ocean and have a cool breeze coming off the water, even if summer is just starting to begin. It's truly wonderful. I almost forgot how much I love the ocean. The sense that it just goes on for forever and ever, with adventure and mystery hidden in and around it, fills me with a wonderful sense of awe and respect. Even on Neverland, I hated how the jungle's heat and steam clung to me, but as soon as I broke out of the tree line and burst onto the white sand beach and stared out into the open ocean, crystalline and sparkling, I felt a sense of calm and peace overwhelm me. Even when I had been very young, Mother and Father would rent a stately house in one of the seaside beaches and John, Michael and I would spend hours exploring the caves and tide pools along the shoreline. I always imagined that when we were looking out at the ocean what lay across it was not just another part of Europe, but a far-off fantastic magical land filled with excitement and intrigue.

I want to laugh at the fact that I once imagined these far-off places, never dreaming that I'd actually travel to them, let alone live in them. It's more than a little ironic.

I smile to myself as I look out of the rocky shore and out to the open ocean. Some tide pools catch my eye and I look at them, immediately longing for those long afternoons with my brothers, exploring and laughing and just being together. I look to Peter, a smile still ghosting on my lips. "When I was young," I tell him, "my family would go on trips to the seaside. My brothers and I would spend hours exploring the tide pools along the shore."

Peter furrows his eyebrows, and I can see the gears turning in his head, trying to figure out how to respond to what I've just said. I know it takes a lot of effort for him to respond with kindness and decency. It doesn't come easy to him. "Do you want to go exploring?" he asks, more questioning whether that's a correct response as opposed to questioning if I want to go.

"Yes, I do," I say, smiling. We both guide Ash and Samson down the rocky path to the shore and hop off them. We begin to walk down the shore, close enough that our shoulders bump together. We stop at the tide pools, examining them closely for signs of life. We scoop out small creatures and Peter explains to me the ones I don't recognize and I marvel at the magic in them. We continue on this way, exploring for a while, walking further and further down the beach. It's enjoyable and it's the second day in this long, long journey that's filled with happiness and I'm grateful for it. It pushes the pit of anxiety in my stomach to the back of my mind. I feel at ease simply exploring and talking with Peter. It makes all of the issues surrounding this journey seem far off and fixable. His presence for once makes me feel calm and assured.

But still at the back of my mind, sometimes the anxiety and the turmoil boils up and grabs hold of my thoughts, reminding me that this isn't my reality. That Peter is still the villain and that he has ruined my life and that Neal is in desperate need of my help and it looks as if that if I'm going to save him, I'm going to have to end up dying. The thoughts whirl around in my head and just as they're about to overtake me, I turn back to Peter and see his face or hear his voice explain something and the anxiety seems to ebb and flow away just as quickly as it came.

At one point, while I'm looking out over the ocean, caught up in one of my frequent anguish-filled reveries, Peter's voice breaks my tension. I turn to him, seeing that he's wandered away from me and the water's edge, closer to the mouth of a cave. "Look at this, bird," he says, pointing at the cave. It's large and cavernous, that much I can tell. The ocean seeps into the mouth of it, with a rocky ridge from the surrounding mountains winding into it, creating a path into the cave. "Let's go in."

I look at Peter, my eyebrows quirking up in question, unconvinced. Traipsing into some unknown, dark cave doesn't seem like the best idea. Seeing my look he deflates, his face going stony and blank. A swell of irritation rises up in me. He's just like a petulant child, not getting his way.

"Come on, bird," he says, exasperated. "Don't you trust me?"

"Don't use that against me, Peter. That's unfair and you know it," I chide him.

"I thought we were having fun," he tells me, eyes narrowing.

"We still are, Peter. Just don't try and force me to do anything," I tell him, trying to keep my voice even. "Don't ruin this day just because I won't do everything you say." Peter rolls his eyes and a wave of anger rises up in me and I've let it loose before I can tame it. "And may I remind you about the last time when I went into cave with you? Does Skull Rock ring a bell?"

Peter's face drops instantly, shame marring his ever-so-perfect glare. I regret the words immediately. He folds his arms, his jaw setting into a hard line and his face settling into that blank glare that I hate. "That was nasty, Wendy," he grits out.

"I'm sorry, Peter. I shouldn't have said that," I apologize, trying to show how sincere I am. But before I even have time to see whether or not he's accepted my apology, there's a flash of something dark green and slimy that whips out of the cave and grabs Peter by the ankle and begins to drag him backwards, into the cave. He's so surprised he doesn't even have time to scream and I'm so surprised I don't even see the second flash of green coming for me. It wraps around my waist and I'm immediately engulfed by the smell of salt, seaweed and wet rock. It pulls me into the cave in a flash and before I know it, I'm surrounded by darkness, hurtling towards back of the cave, with the sounds of the ocean lapping below me and my surprised shouts echoing in the cave.

Suddenly, the dark green mass stops abruptly and I feel my stomach finally catch up to me. I continue to struggle and find that what's wrapped around me feels slimy and wet and very, very much like a tentacle. It twists tighter around my waist the more I struggle.

"Peter?" I call out in the dimness. My heart thumps in my ears. I'm too scared and confused to try and hide the fact that I'm more scared for him than I am for myself. "Peter, are you alright?"

"I'm alright, Wendy," Peter's voice echoes off the walls of the cave, somewhere to my left. He sounds like he's grappling with something like the tentacle, but he responded which is all I need at this point. "Are you alright? Are you-"

Suddenly, a silky voice bursts around us. "Was that a lover's quarrel I heard? Oh you poor unfortunate-" The voice cuts off abruptly and then is followed by a confused grunt. "What in Davy Jones's locker? Peter Pan?" Lights immediately bursts forth and the cave is suddenly filled with light. I look around completely dazed to find that we're at the back of the cave now, where the ceiling of the cave has expanded and creates a floor covering the water. The room that it's created is lavishly decorated in dark green and gold, with large tables, comfortable chairs, gorgeous paintings and a ginormous chandelier. In the centre at the back, on a heavily adorned golden throne, bejewelled with dark gems, sits a gorgeous woman with golden blonde hair and coffee coloured skin. She looks like a perfectly normal human in a gorgeous sea green gown, except for the fact of course that her lower half is made up of large, green tentacles, ones that happen to be around me and Peter.

I look at her, bewildered and she looks back at us, completely surprised. She squints her eyes at Peter, who is being held upside down by her tentacles. He's still straining and struggling to get out and doesn't seem to have noticed his surroundings or that this sea witch seems to know him. Suddenly, the woman's eyes widen. "It is you, Peter Pan," and with that drops him headfirst onto the floor. He thankfully lands on his back instead of his head.

"Don't hurt him!" I protest. Peter just groans in response to my protests and the woman fixes her gaze on me.

"Oh, I'm not going to hurt him. He's an old friend," she laughs. I look to Peter, confused, to find him finally sitting up and looking around. His eyes find mine and lock onto them.

"Wendy, this is Ursula. Ursula and I used to team up back in the day to fight Hook in Neverland. Ursula, this is Wendy Darling, so please put her down," he explains, standing up and brushing himself off. Recognition of my name flickers in Ursula's eyes as she slowly lowers me down onto the floor and finally releases me.

Ursula grins, standing up from her throne and making her way over to a magnificently ornate dining table, decorated with gold. "Come sit," she tells us, sitting down at the head of the table. "You must be famished."

I look at Peter skeptically. I'm not really sure what's going on and who this woman is and whether or not we should be sitting down with her or booking it out of the cave as fast as possible. Peter gives a slight nod, saying that we're safe. We walk over to the table and sit down, Peter on her right and me on her left.

Suddenly, with a snap of her fingers the table is filled with all kinds of food. Lobster, fish, pasta, bread, wine, cake. Peter begins to dig in and Ursula follows suit, but I remain still. I don't understand why they're acting so cordially. Why is this happening? Why did she drag us in here in the first place?

"Wendy, come on, eat," Peter urges me from across the table as he cracks open a lobster claw.

"I don't- I'm not sure- I don't understand what's happening here," I rush out. "Why did you bring us in here?"

Ursula sighs and says, almost reluctantly, "I heard you two bickering out there and thought you were an angry couple. I usually make exchanges with people who want something that I can provide- a magical fix to a mundane problem. I thought you two would be the same." The way she says it, it seems almost like she's ashamed of doing it. "But obviously, it turned out to be Peter and you, so now I'd like to catch up because last I heard, Pan was dead and he obviously-" she motions to him "-is not. And it's fairly obvious to me, he's had some pretty big changes in his life considering that you're travelling with him."

I almost scoff. Peter has had some ginormous, monumental changes. I look over to Peter and his face seems blank, giving off the perfect air of disinterest. Classic.

"Now, would either of you like to fill me in on what's happening? Because I'm the one now who doesn't understand," Ursula says, grinning at me. I grin back now, the old feeling of unease and uncertainty slipping away as Ursula jokes with me. I like her, I decide. From what I can collect, she doesn't appear to be overly malicious or malevolent, and seems to be quite observant and humorous. "Well, come on, now, Pan," she says, nudging him. He looks over at me and I almost laugh. Within the last two days, we've met Hook, both mine and Peter's old enemy, and then now, we've met Ursula, who shares Hook as a common enemy with Peter. It seems to me, the universe is trying to force Peter into showing everyone from his past how he's changed for the future.

Peter sighs and reluctantly begins the story about how he was brought back from the dead by Neal, who was in search of his father and who also merged himself with his father by giving up his own heart, when I interject that I was in fact searching for my brother Neal and stumbled across Pan, explaining how we formed our rocky arrangement. Peter then goes on to explain the various mansions we traipsed through and the numerous dangers we've faced, all in hope of finding a spell to undo Neal's predicament. Then I explain that only in the past little while, have we discovered that there very likely is no spell to undo Neal's magical attachment to his father, and that the only real possibility of saving him is by way of giving up a heart to Neal.

Ursula listens to the tale, completely amazed and fascinated by it. Laughing along with us at the irony of it all and sympathizing with me over the heartache I've endured. We leave out the excruciatingly painful parts about our own broken and ever-changing relationship, but I'm not even sure Ursula would need us to tell her. By the way she talks about it and to us, it becomes pretty clear that she's aware that Peter's trying to give up his old ways. Then after hearing about the recent development with Neal, she scrunches her eyebrows together and leans forward onto the table, silent for a moment and then saying, "I don't mean to sound as if I'm a know-it-all when it comes to magic, because I most certainly am not, but haven't you considered splitting hearts?"

Peter chokes on the lobster he's eating and begins to splutter as I just look on at Ursula. I've no idea what splitting hearts means, but Peter obviously does and it's obviously significant and distressing to him. "Keep coughing, Peter," I tell him from across the table.

Eventually, Peter stops choking on his food and I turn back to Ursula. "Splitting hearts? I don't understand what you mean by that."

"Well, sometimes, a heart can be shared by two people and both of them can continue to live just fine with half a heart," she explains. "So you could split your heart with Pan. He could then give his to Rumple because they're a blood relation and definitely have a similar amount of blackness to their hearts. And then Neal's heart would go back to Neal. And then your problem would be solved and no one would die."

I feel so happy that I might just float off. The thought of being able to save Neal and not die in the process becoming a reality makes me feel like I've just entered through the pearly gates and I've left every single worldly pain behind. Never mind that I'll have to share a heart with Peter; I can save my brother and myself. I look over to Peter to try and share my happiness, but my heart drops when I see his face.

He has that same blank, stony glare on his face. His jaw is set in a firm, strong line and his eyes are glassy and cold.

Something's wrong here.

He just slowly shakes his head. "It won't work," he clips out and casts his gaze on the other side of the room.

"Why not? Is the spell specific about how the two are separated?" Ursula asks. "Because I'm sure that we can find a-"

"No, it's not the spell," he grinds out, still refusing to even look at either of us. "Wendy and I can't share a heart." Ursula makes a small 'oh' sound and I just look between the two of them, still confused.

"I still don't understand why it won't work," I interject.

"Because," Peter tells me, icily, still refusing to even glance at me, "to be able to share a heart with someone else, you need to love them and have no reservations about loving them. You haven't even forgiven me. And you probably never will." He finally manages to meet my gaze with an cold glare. "That's why we can't share a heart."

I look down at my hands in my lap. There it is. That shattering of my happiness and my hope for both Neal and me. For the umpteenth time, Peter's gotten in the way of me saving my brother and ultimately, my family, but this time, I'm not furious with him. All I feel is heartache, that I can't forgive him and that because of this, I won't be able to save my brother. It's not that it's my fault even that I can't forgive Peter. But it makes me wish, just like on the pier or yesterday or even this morning that perhaps, that forgiving him is an attainable possibility. That both of us working towards a relationship that isn't filled with anger or hatred or hurt isn't a far-off, impossible idea, but something that's possible.

Ursula just shakes her head. "I apologize for assuming," she says softly, almost as if to comfort both of us. "I didn't realize. And I'm sorry, Wendy, that I got your hopes up just to have them dashed down."

"It's alright," I tell her. "You never meant us any harm. You were only trying to help." Ursula just nods sadly.

I come to realize that perhaps our visit with Ursula should definitely come to end right about now. So I slowly begin to stand up and say my goodbyes to Ursula.

"You'll find a way," Ursula assures. "I believe in you and I believe in Pan. Perhaps one day you'll get to that place where perhaps my plan will work." She smiles. "Either way, I wish you all the luck in this world and the next. I've loved getting to meet you." She shakes my hand firmly and then pulls me into a warm hug. She then hands me a bag that's filled with food and warm blankets and supplies for the road. I thank her kindly.

After this Peter finally stops sitting sullenly in his chair and moves to say his brief goodbyes to Ursula. She claps him over the shoulder. "You're on your way, Pan, in more ways than one," she tells him. He simply glowers at her. I'm not surprised to see that Peter is still more than capable of being a grouchy ass. "Good luck with everything, Peter."

We then take the stony walkway out of the cave and burst back into the daylight on the beach. The fog has cleared away and left behind a dazzlingly bright day with a cold, crisp wind that whips around both of us and turns my cheeks pink.

"Come on, Peter, let's go back to the horses. We definitely shouldn't be leaving them alone for so long," I tell him. I begin to walk a few paces away before realizing that he's not following me. I turn around and look at him. "Come on, you can sulk on the way to the next inn."

He stares at the ground, his eyes hard and icy. His jaw is clenched again and his balls his hands into fists. Finally he looks up at me and I'm shocked when I see a look of total pain and heartache evident all over his face.

We both just stare at each other for a moment before Peter breaks the silence, "Was I right in there? That you'll probably never forgive me?" he asks, quietly, but still with a certain hard, icy clip to his voice.

I let out a deep breath and look away, out over the fjord. "I honestly don't know," I tell him. I press my lips together. "These past few days, how you've acted, has made me feel like perhaps the possibility of forgiving you isn't such a far off, impossible notion." I let myself look at him and I find his face filled with timid hope but also grave reality. "You brought me back from the brink, you've been impossibly kind, I enjoyed spending all of yesterday just being with you." I try and offer him a small smile but he just looks at me with that awful blank glare.

"But?" he prompts. "There's always a but."

"But," I admit, "it doesn't change any of what you've done to me. It doesn't change the past one hundred years. It doesn't even change the fact that you've hurt me beyond belief. There's always going to be that hurt. I don't know how I could ever get past it. How I could be aware of anything that's bigger or more demanding or prominent in our relationship than that." I sigh. "I don't know if it's possible. I don't even know if it's possible to not always be upset with each other or yelling. You saw our spat earlier. It was inevitable." I pause and glance at Peter's face that's now dropped away from being blank and cold and is now just extremely sad. "Sometimes, I wish it wasn't like that. Sometimes, it doesn't even feel like that. Sometimes, it feels like I already have."

Peter nods. "Like when you kissed me."

"Yes," I say quietly. "Like when I kissed you."

Peter pauses for a moment and looks lost in thought. I'm quite certain that we're both thinking of the same thing: that deliciously, warm, tender kiss that made all the pain and hurt flutter away, that blissful moment.

Finally, he snaps himself out of it. "I don't want you to force yourself to forgive me for Neal. That's not fair to you and it's not right," he tells me. "So don't do it."

I smile. He anticipated my train of thought. I'm more than impressed. "I won't."

"If you ever do forgive me, and it's okay if you don't ever, it will be because you want to," he explains. "Not for any other outside reason." I nod back at him.

"Agreed."

Another pause, awkward now since both of us have lain our feelings so clearly out on the table.

"So where do we go from here?" Peter asks, an uncommon uncertainty in his voice.

I shrug. "It's just like Ursula said, I suppose. We'll find a way."


	37. Into the Fire

"We have to be extremely quick with this mansion," Peter tells me on the winding rocky path up towards the large, grey manor. The wind whips icily around us as we canter up the steep mountain path. "The monster guarding this place is an extremely good tracker and will hunt us down, even if I cloak with magic. We only have a limited amount of time to get in, check the library and get out."

I look across to Peter. "And what type of monster would this be?"

"Hellhounds," he tells me, his jaw set in a hard line of determination.

"Ah, more Greek mythology coming to life," I observe. "And to think I always told those as just bedtime stories."

Peter shakes his head and lets out a laugh that isn't nearly as brittle as usual. "The amounts of cosmic irony that happens every day to both of us is infinite. Shakespeare couldn't even begin to fathom this amount of irony." He glances over at me, offering a small amused smile which I return.

It's been just over a month and a half since we met with Ursula and discovered the only possibility for saving Neal in which I don't end up dead. It also involves forgiving Peter, which as of late doesn't seem at all impossible. He's so much more bearable these days. One could even call him decent. I doubt he'll ever get to the point where he's a warm, cuddly person because that's not who he is, but he's definitely on his way to being pleasant. In fact, I rather enjoy his company most of the time. When we aren't at each other's throats, his conversation is quite stimulating and interesting. I enjoy his dry, sarcastic sense of humour. I rather like that quite a bit. I like hearing what he has to say and what he thinks about things. In fact, I want to hear about all his thoughts and ideas on everything. Not just that, I want to tell him all my thoughts and ideas and have him challenge them and discuss them with me. He keeps me on my toes and I rather like that. I suppose that he's always kept me on my toes, but now it's much more tolerable.

There are a lot of things about him now that I find myself liking quite a bit.

"Alright," I say, shaking myself back to the present. "What's the plan here? How are we going to avoid the hellhounds?"

"I already told you," he says. "We'll cloak ourselves with magic."

"But you said the hellhounds will still hunt us down," I counter.

Peter rolls his eyes. "When has a little bit of danger stopped you from doing anything?" he teases. "You're Wendy Darling, danger follows you everywhere. Besides, we still have a plan."

"Not a very good one," I counter.

He raises his eyebrows at me, feigning exasperation. "Do you have any suggestions?"

"Well, no."

"Then we're going with my plan," Peter tells me, grinning. He licks his finger and swipes through the air. "Peter: one, Wendy: zero."

"Oh, is that the score for the past five minutes?" I joke. "Because before that you know I'm ahead of you by a few thousand."

Peter's eyes flash bright blue with mischief. "Shut up, bird." He then urges Samson up the last little bit of the path and gets down just before a large rot iron gate. He takes Samson by the reigns and carefully ties the reigns to a nearby tree, muttering to him softly. "I'll be back soon, boy. Just stay here." He strokes Samson's mane and then comes back to the gate, waiting expectantly for me to also tie up Ash.

"Kind to animals," I observe, walking over to him by the gate. "Who would have thought?"

"Oh, please, bird," he brushes off. "Don't act like that's a big step in the right direction. It's not a big deal, or very impressive." I look up at him and grin, wondering if he can tell that I'm trying to wordlessly show him that I'm proud of how far he's come. He smiles back down at me, his eyes bright and clear instead of harsh and icy for once. His dark hair falls playfully around his face and his eyes crinkle at what I can only guess are actual laugh lines. He looks like a happy, young man for once.

"Alright, alright. Let's cloak ourselves and just get in, read the books we need to and get out," I tell him. As I say the words, I can feel the tension begin to creep up on me. This is one of the last times we'll ever be going into any mansion. This is the third last mansion and it holds a third of all the opportunities I have to save Neal. I have a lot of hope and pressure riding on this mansion. It's getting down to the wire and I don't know if I can handle being met for the umpteenth time with the depressing thought that my death is the only way to save Neal.

But thankfully, all goes well. Peter cloaks us easily, his sparkling green magic enveloping us as we enter the property and slip through the long, twisting corridors lined with stone carvings of scenes from Greek mythology that are so ornate and detailed I could have sworn that they had once been real.

We finally reach the library and I'm surprised and pleased to observe that the first part of our plan is going extremely well until Peter swings open the large, stone doors and I look up on the library, or at least what used to be a library.

The rows upon rows of what must have been gorgeous, tall, elegant bookshelves have all toppled over onto each other, creating a pile of broken, shattered wood. The chairs and tables that must have once been used to lounge and read for hours in are all ripped to shreds everywhere, with fabric and stuffing littering the ground. But nothing compares to the books.

On the right side of the room, stands a large, grand fire place, crackling with lively fire. It would be an inviting sight to read by if not for the dozens up dozens of books that have been ripped up and used for kindling. There are barely more than a few dozen books left from what must have been a collection that numbered in the thousands.

I look on at the desecrated pile of books and I feel my heart shrink.

"What the hell?" Peter breathes out, looking at the disastrous library. "What the hell happened here?" But I'm not listening I'm already sprinting over to the pile of books and begin to rummage through the shreds of my hope for Neal.

I rip through each book, searching for spells, incantations, anything. Each one proves completely useless and I toss behind me, growing more and more desperate with each word that yields no solution to me. I can hear Peter behind me, attempting to reason with me, to just get me to respond but I don't hear. All I'm aware of is the fact that is the third last mansion and all of the thousands of possibilities in this library that could have saved Neal have been used for kindling.

I finally finish off the pile of books and wildly look around, searching for anything. My eye catches a book with only a corner and I make a swipe for it, but I'm pulled back also immediately by what I can only guess is Peter. I try and twist out of his grasp, but he holds on tight, turning me to face him.

He grabs wildly at the sides of my face, and holds my gaze. "You need to calm down, bird, or else we aren't going to be able to do anything productive here," he tells me.

"Productive? You think we're going to be able to do anything here?" I fume. "All the books are destroyed! There is nothing for us here!"

"You need to calm down and think straight," Peter reasons. "The books aren't everything."

"The books aren't everything?" I shout. I wrench myself out of Peter's grasp and take a step away from him. "Peter, this is the third last mansion. We are running out of resources and this library being destroyed just took out a third of our last remaining possibilities! Don't you dare tell me the books aren't everything!"

"Well, then there's nothing we can do about them now," he tries to tell me calmly. "We can maybe try and figure out what happened-"

"All I cared about were the books and they're all ash now. I don't give a damn about what happened here!" I retort back to him.

"Actually, you might give a damn about what happened here," comes a voice from behind Peter. We both immediately whip around to find two women and a man, all three looking impossibly disheveled, beaten, bruised, cold and down right tired standing in front of Peter and me. They're all dressed in what must have once been sleek black outfits, with bows and arrows strung along their backs and I immediately recognize them for what they are.

"Thieves!" I burst out. "You were the ones who destroyed all of these books." I begin to stalk towards them, but Peter grabs my hand and keeps me in place. "I'll put you through hell for destroying those!"

"We've already gone through hell while destroying them," the older of the women sighs. She has deep rich chestnut hair with silver woven into it and large blue eyes. If I weren't so frothing mad, I'd observe that she had a kind face and wise eyes. "So, going back through again wouldn't be much of a feat."

"Now, let's have a seat and talk about what's happened because once we explain, you'll understand the predicament you've just walked into," offers the man, easing himself down into a circle of pillows that I failed to see in my rage. He has the same deep rich chestnut hair streaked with silver and big blue eyes. His face is open and the picture of calm.

"I don't want to hear anything you criminals have to say! You've no idea what you've done by destroying those books," I tell them harshly. I'm about to stalk off when I remember that my hand is still latched on to Peter's. He tugs me back towards him, so that I'm facing him. I refuse to meet his calm gaze and instead glare at the crackling fire.

Somewhere in the rational, calm part of my mind, it registers that we've somehow switched roles today, with Peter being the kind, rational one and me being the angry, mean-spirited one. I find that fact insufferable and him even more so.

"You've got to calm down, bird," he whispers into my ear. "I'm quite certain that we're in a fair amount of danger right now by the state of things. We can't save the books, but if we act rationally we can save ourselves and these people."

"They've ruined our chances of saving Neal," I grind out.

"Stop that," he scolds. "They're trying to improve our chances of surviving, and through that they also improve our chances of saving Neal." He sighs and I can feel his breath on my neck.

"No, they destroyed our chances of saving Neal by using those books for kindling," I seethe.

"This is not you, bird," Peter says in a low voice. "What's gotten into you today?"

"What's gotten into me? I'll tell you. We're five months in to a dangerous, treacherous, disaster-filled journey that has not just my brother's life, but my own riding on it, and we've gotten down to the one of the very last chances to save both my brother and myself, and we just lost a third of the books that could have helped us save Neal," I clip out under my breath.

I'm much too upset to even think to remember that there are three complete strangers staring at Peter and me in utter confusion.

"The books aren't the only solution. They aren't everything," Peter tries to assure me, but I can hear the sharpness of his words and I know he's getting angry also. "You have to have a little more faith that there might be another solution to the problem."

"Care to share that solution with me then?"

"No, I don't," Peter tells me, folding his arms across his chest.

"To think we had gotten to the point where we see each other as equals."

Peter clenches his jaw and his eyes grow icy. "If you think that's the reason I'm not-"

"There shouldn't even be a reason you're not telling me! This is my brother's life and mine on the line!" I let out an angry breath. "Do you even care about me? Or are you still just as selfish as before?"

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret them. I don't mean them one bit even. I was angry and stressed and scared and completely blindsided by the situation, I just took it out all on Peter and it was cruel.

Peter looks at me for a moment like he's been slapped, and then slowly recoils, his jaw clenching, his lips turning into a cold, hard line and his eyes becoming icy and unreachable.

"You know that's not true," he bites out. "There's obviously no reasoning with you at this point." He eyes flick across my face, hopefully seeing how truly sorry I am. "How about you just sit this one out, okay? I'll take a break being a selfish, cold-hearted villain for right now and go help these poor people."

Peter quickly brushes past me and immediately strikes up a conversation with the group. I can't make out the words from over here, but I can hear the murmur of his voice, calm, soothing, apologetic.

I sink down into an armchair that isn't completely destroyed and hold my head in my hands. I never lose my temper like this. I've gotten so far in this quest and I've put all of my hope into these books that may very well not lead to any solution in helping Neal. Peter was right, the books aren't everything, but I let my anxiety over Neal get the better of me. It's no excuse for how I acted. I'm better than this and these people deserve better than this.

Peter deserves better than this.

He's come so far from who he used to be. He's kind and caring and brave and smart and sweet. He believes fully in me and sees me as a wonderful person, flaws and all. He's a good person, with a bad past. It doesn't mean that I have to feel obligated to forgive him now or ever, but it does mean that I should have to bring up his past to hurt him when I'm upset.

It's cruel and unfair to him.

I look around the side of the chair and over my shoulder at him. I watch him intently as he speaks to the two women and man with great concern and obvious sympathy. His eyebrows are furrowed together, like they always do when he's concentrating hard. The other three listen to him patiently, occasionally offering up a comment or a concern. They look at him with complete trust and confidence in him and his abilities. There's no doubt to them that he is a good man.

There's no doubt to me either.

Finally they finish speaking, shake hands and then begin to presumably go off to their separate tasks to carry out whatever plan Peter's probably come up with. Peter stands where they've left him for a moment, clenching and unclenching his hands into fists. I can see the taut muscles in his shoulders. I don't even need to see his face to know that he's still upset with me.

Finally, he turns around and stalks over to me. As soon as he turns, he locks eyes with me and doesn't break the connection the entire time it takes to stride over to me. Finally, he just sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

"It turns out they're from the village we're staying in. Apparently, the hellhound likes to go on jaunts to the farms and eat all the livestock, so they came here to try and see if they could get rid of it," Peter explains. He looks at me pointedly. "So, they aren't thieves. Jacob and Margaret are siblings and Margaret and the other woman, Sadie, are married. They all own one of the farms that's constantly ransacked." He lets out a deep breath. "So, when they came up here, they were completely out-matched and ending up being chased through the entire house. They ended up in the library and eventually got the hellhound out. It can't come back in because the doors have twist handles and it literally can not get in because of that sole reason.

"So bouncing off of that little bit of information, the plan is to lure it back in, let fire to the place, get out and shut it in while it and the library goes up in flames. So, I need you to move everything you can to the centre of the room where they're making the big pile over there," Peter explains. "Sounds good?"

I nod, not quite sure how to begin to apologize to Peter when he begins to walk off. I stand up from the chair and catch his hand. He immediately coils back, but still turns around and looks at me, his face that unreadable mask I hate.

"Peter, I want to apologize," I begin, but he cuts me off.

"I really don't want to hear it right now, Wendy," he tells me.

"No, Peter, please, just hear me out," I attempt. He huffs but remains silent. "It was unbelievably cruel of me to say that to you, when it's so far from the truth. It's unfair of me to always go back to that insult whenever I'm upset. It hurts you more than I'll probably ever know. It doesn't do anything to help either of us. It's just a mean, hateful lie and I never, ever want to say it again, because I don't believe it and I don't want to hurt you and you don't deserve it," I rush out. Peter looks at me, completely indifferent, so I continue, "You've become an incredible man. You're kind and caring and brave and smart and completely wonderful and it's a sin to ever even say what I said to you. There is no excuse for it and I am so unbelievably sorry for it." I pause and look up to Peter, whose face has finally softened. "I'm so, so sorry, Peter."

"I know and I forgive you for it," Peter says, his voice soft and low. "I know you didn't mean it, but it rips my heart out to even think for one second you think that." He rubs his temples. "I'm working hard at becoming a better person. And I know I'm far from perfect, but I wish you wouldn't doubt my commitment to you. There are a lot of things that I don't have in spades: honour, patience, decency, you name it. But I'm committed to you and I care more about you than anything else. But you make it hard sometimes to help you and show you my commitment."

"I'm sorry," I repeat again, dumbly. It's all I can come up with after what Peter's said. It makes my heart feel like it's about to burst out of my chest, hearing what he's just said. I've acted atrociously today and he's been committed to helping me and keeping me on the right path even still. "Thank you," I say finally. "For all you've done, especially today."

Peter grins at me, and I know this pain is over and done with. "Don't thank me just yet. We still have to get out of here." And with that we set off building up the ginormous pile of anything flammable that we can find. We lug old shelves into the middle, toss armchairs and drape old curtains over everything. We work steadily until finally we all step back to admire the complete mess of things in the centre of the room.

"Perfect," Peter says approvingly. "Now, let's open those doors and burn this place to the ground." He marches over to fireplace and begins to put together a torch that will hopefully light the entire pile up quickly.

He however leaves me with the John, Margaret and Sadie who I only just recently accused of being thieves when in fact they're brave farmers who were willing to risk their lives for their village. I feel just as awful about what I said to them as I did with Peter.

I play awkwardly with my thimble before building up the courage to begin to apologize to them. I turn and offer them a small smile. They look back at me, confused, but not maliciously.

"I want to apologize for my behaviour," I begin. "It was truly abominable and there was no excuse for it. I was blindsided by the situation and scared and confused and I took it out on you kind folks and I am so sorry for that. It was completely unacceptable and I deeply regret my actions."

"We understand and we accept your apology," Margaret says after a few counts. "Your husband over there explained to us why you're here and we understand why you reacted that way. It's alright. If my own brother were in the situation your brother's in now, I'm sure I'd act just the same way." I close my eyes and silently thank Peter again for all he's done. He's kept me grounded and good today.

She smiles at me and squeezes John's shoulder, and it makes my heart squeeze just thinking about my own three brothers. I miss them so much and I fear for each of them every day. It makes my heart ache, not seeing their faces every day.

"And I'd do the same for Sadie, of course, as I'm sure you would for Peter," Margaret continues. and lovingly takes Sadie by the hand. The look she gives Sadie makes me blush from its intimacy, but it also makes me think about Peter. It is true. At this point, I've flung caution to the wind. There's no more denying that I don't deeply care for Peter anymore. I may not have forgiven him, but he means so much to me and I don't know what I do without him. I would search this world and every other one for him, to make sure he was alright. I don't even want to entertain the thought of him getting hurt or worse.

I look over my shoulder and smile at Peter, who gives me a lopsided grin and continues with his fire. He's ended up stringing all the old drapes over the the fireplace from the pile of finger in the middle of the room, soaking them in the liquor I keep in my measly doctor's bag.

"I would," I mutter to myself.

Finally, he finished with what he's doing and motions for us to come over. Once we get to him, he instructs, "I want you to open the doors and as soon as you do, I'll light the pile up. Then we wait for the hellhound and as soon as it's in, everyone needs to get out. Just run and slam the door as soon as everyone's out. Alright?"

We all nod. Sadie, Margaret and John all go towards the door and begin to heave it open. Soon the doors are flung open and Peter lights the drapes on fire. I close my eyes and watch for some kind of sizzling bang but nothing happens. I open my eyes to find a smokey length of curtain in front of me and a confused Peter.

"What the hell?" I say.

Peter frantically picks up the drapes and shakes them. "They're not soaking up the alcohol. They won't catch fire." He throws them back on the ground. "Rumple must have made the flame resistant. That bastard!"

Suddenly, I hear the scrape of claws on the marble floors of the hall and I don't need Margaret, John and Sadie by the door to tell me the hellhound is bounding towards us.

"Can't you just use your powers?" I ask desperately.

"I don't want them to know," Peter says quickly. "I'm going to have to just set it on fire by hand." He darts over to the pile and begins to carry back a few large sticks that he begins to stick into the fire. We frantically go back and forth as fast as possible and soon, the other three join us, hurrying quickly to try and set the pile ablaze.

But it's almost no use. The pile is too big and we don't have nearly enough time before the hellhound is barrelling straight into the room, snarling and snapping it's great jaws. The beast is at least eight feel tall and twelve feet long, not even counting it's long tail. It's silken black with angry green eyes and all I can think in it's presence is to run.

That's what I'm sure everyone else thinks, but we all remain in the room, frantically trying to set the entire pile on fire while the hound chases all of us, snapping and snarling its large, sharp teeth and roaring so loud it makes my head spin. We all manage to avoid the monster, barely and only because it keeps getting distracted by the four other tasty morsels in the room. We're eventually going to tire out and it will pick us off one by one.

Hopefully, we'll be able to set the place on fire before it comes to that and by the looks of things, it looks like we'll just barely make it. There's a low rumble of smoke and flame coming from the pile, slow and steady, but extremely hot. I can feel it's heat licking me just as much as I can feel the vibrations of the hound's growl.

Finally I can hear Peter's voice. "This is as good as it gets! Let's get the hell out out of here." He stands the farthest away from the door, waving us all towards the door. The four of us begin to make a break for it, but the hound quickly sees us all and bounds after us all. If it follows us out into the hall, our plan will all be for naught and we'll definitely be the hellhounds dinner.

Suddenly, I see a flash of green. It's gone before I even register it and I know that there's no way the other three would have seen it and let alone identified it. I whip around and see Peter, sneakily throwing balls of green fire at the dog. "Hey! Come over here and get me, you big beast!" Peter yells over the crackle of the fire.

I can barely even see him through the smoke but I make out his figure quickly darting away and the hound leaping after him. "Peter, no!" I screech, but the smoke clouds my lungs and I ended up dry heaving on the floor before I can scold him more. I turn around and begin to dash after him, but I feel strong arms that must be one of the three pulling me back and as much as I try to fight them I can't. They end up hauling me out of the library and into the hallway, slamming the door shut behind them. I rip out of they grasp and pull at the doorhandles, which have locked from the inside and are searing hot from the fire. I immediately shriek and pull my hands away, only to remind myself that Peter is in there and he needs me.

I pull and tug and beat on the door with no luck and eventually I feel myself being carried out of the mansion, completely hysterical. I scream and curse everything and everyone that I can think of. I swear and I cry and I scream until my throat is raw, even when we burst out into the bright, clear day.

I'm sure they try everything in their power to calm me down but there is nothing they can do. I just left Peter in the fiery, hellish place with a monster on his own. He sacrificed himself for me and everyone else. And now he's gone.

I feel like a great cavern has been opened up inside of me and now I'm just falling forever, smashing through glass and spikes and thorns and all kinds of brutal pain without Peter. I never thought it would be like this too lose him and it's so much worse than anything I would have ever imagined.

This is truly hell.

I weep and scream and cry uncontrollably as the three of them usher me out of the gated mansion and to where Peter and I left the horses. I immediately smash into Ash and bury my face in his warm coat. He leans his head down my back and drools on me comfortingly. I sob into his neck as three sets of hands try to pull me away.

I hear some of their excuses like, "This place isn't safe anymore" or "The mansion is burning down". And I don't give a damn about any of it. Peter's gone and there is nothing I can do. I just want to lie down and be swallowed by this earth.

I refuse to even acknowledge them when their voices grow soft and quiet and then seem to be filled with joy. I don't know what's happened, but I don't care. I just want to be left alone.

"Wendy, look!" I hear over and over again but I refuse to acknowledge anything outside of my pain, but then I hear it.

"Bird, look at me, please," the voice says, calmly, lovingly. For a split second, I think that I must be hallucinating, even though I feel like it is a little early in the grieving process to start that. And then I look up and whip around, finding a complete miracle before me.

He looks like he's just walked through hell and back. He's bruised and burned and half of his clothes are burnt off. He's covered head to toe in grimy soot and I can make out cuts and scrapes that are from the hellhound, but he's most definitely alive.

I don't even know how I got to him so fast or how I flung myself into his arms or how we toppled onto the ground or when I began kissing him or when he started to kiss back. All I know is that he's alive and in my arms and my heart feels so light it may very well bounce right out of my chest into his.

He tastes like ash and soot and blood and himself. I swear I've never tasted anything more wonderful. His arms have never felt more secure or comforting. It's pure joy to just have him by my side and I know that I never want him to leave it ever again.

Between kisses, I can hear myself reprimanding him. "You never, ever do that again, you hear me? If you go down in the fire, so do I," I say breathlessly. "You stupid, stupid man I thought you were dead. Don't you ever do that again, Peter."

I hear his laugher rumble in his chest and I kiss him again.

"I won't, ever again," Peter tells me, his arms wrapped around me, tightly, not seeming at all to mind that we're both covered in dirt and kissing on the ground in front of three complete strangers. "I promise."

Finally, he stands us both up and we quickly say goodbye to our three companions. They go off down the winding narrow path, leaving us calm ourselves down. As soon as they're out of sight, Peter attempts to go and untie the horses, but I tug him back towards me until he's wrapped his arms around me once more.

I put my hands on his cheeks and look at him very seriously. "I mean it," I tell him. "Never do that again." He looks down at me, the laughter that was so clear on his face has been replaced by complete concern. "You were a hero back there. And it was amazing and I am so proud of you. You've truly come so far and I can't believe my eyes. But if you think for one second that you're going to pull that shit again, you can forget it." I let out a breath. "I don't ever want to feel like that again. It felt like my entire world had crumbled." I wipe away the soot from his cheeks carefully, tenderly. "I care about you more than I care about myself. Please don't go sacrificing yourself. I don't want to be without you."

Peter brings his mouth down to meet mine, kissing me more passionately and tenderly than I even knew possible. It makes me feel breathless and lightheaded, but completely grounded and calm at once. Again, I feel as if my heart is about to leap right out of my chest. Finally, unfortunately, he eventually breaks away. "I care about you more than I care about myself, and I don't want to be without you either." He rests his forehead against mine.

We remain that way for what seems like forever, soaking in the warmth and glow of each other. My heart still feels so light and airy and hardly even tethered to me anymore and suddenly I realize why.

I love Peter.


	38. The Truth

I jolt awake and immediately feel bogged down with apprehension. As I'm thrust into consciousness, I realize what today is and my stomach drops.

Today, we go to the second last mansion. There's a fifty percent chance that Neal is already here and that he's waiting for me to come and save him but I have no plan still. The best plan I have at this point is still sacrificing myself, which I know both Neal and Peter will both severely disapprove of. Neither of them will stand for it, but at this point it's the only way. Well, maybe.

The possibility that Ursula brought up lingered at the back of my mind ever since she even suggested it. It was always there, pushing down on m with the weight of it's possibility, not only what it meant for Neal, that he would be saved, and that I could live to, but what it meant for me and Peter. The possibility of sharing my heart with Peter now seems more possible and tangible than ever after my revelation two weeks ago.

I love Peter.

I love him and probably have for a while.

I've no idea if he loves me back.

It doesn't mean that I forgive him either.

I don't really know what it actually means. But it certainly feels like the possibility of sharing my heart with Peter isn't such a wild, ridiculous notion. It feels like it would feel right and good. But feelings like that don't change the fact that I haven't forgiven him for what he's done. I don't know if I ever will. I was hurt beyond belief by him and I don't know if I could ever feel something for him any stronger than that hurt. I love him in spite of it, but it doesn't mean I've forgiven him. Hell, he still hasn't even given me a formal apology yet.

I turn over in bed and blink a few times as I face the morning sun streaming through the window. Although the day looks bright and warm with a gorgeous blue sky, I know outside is actually icy cold. The mountains are hardly a tropical region, but apparently Gold liked this region a great deal because he has several residences in it. I suppose it makes them harder to access and more isolated, but I really do wish he liked mansions in the southern warm part of the Enchanted Forest that border the tropical South Sea. It's midway through summer but here in the mountains it feels like winter. Not to mention the fact that I'd be closer to my brothers, well two of them at least.

I rub at my temples, a headache already beginning to throb when I think of Baelfire and all that needs to be done to save him, or even if he can be saved. It's been so long already, nearly six months now that I've been traipsing all over creation to find him. God only knows if he hasn't withered away into nothing or been consumed by Gold. I'm tempted to check the star and see if it still flickers to confirm he's okay, but I forbid myself from doing that almost as soon as I realize what it showed me. I wouldn't have been able to continue on searching or even functioning if I kept getting sidetracked by that star. I kept it hidden deep in the recesses of my bag, partly so Peter couldn't get a hold of it but mainly because I couldn't bare to look at it for very long without devolving into hysterics.

I've come this far and I still feel like I'm about to tumble into hysterics. The best plan I have for saving Neal is sacrificing myself and leaving behind my family, not to mention I'm sure Neal with hate me for it and of course, the obvious issue is that I'll be dead. There's no easy solution to this and I don't think I'll be much like the Charming's where a wonderfully convenient solution will just appear right at the last minute. No, for me, it's always just be one tough choice and a tougher outcome after another for the past century.

I suppose I've never been destined to save my brothers. I was never meant to be a hero.

I sigh and try to burrow myself even deeper into the blankets. Perhaps if I go deep enough into them I can just pretend everything is going well and sleep for the next few years without everything falling to pieces. But just as I'm pulling the sheets up over my head I hear the rustle of sheets from across the room and some incoherent grumbling and I know Peter's going to wake up soon.

I turn over, still cocooned in blankets and look over at Peter, who is still trying and failing to sleep just a little bit longer. His mouth is set in a firm line and his eyebrows are slightly furrowed together like he's trying to figure out a difficult arithmetic problem. His hair is tousled and curls on his forehead playfully. Even from across the room, I fight the urge to brush the hairs away.

It boggles my mind to think how just a few months ago I hated him with every fibre of my being. He was so cruel and arrogant and mean and such a bastard. And sometimes he's still a bastard, but he's one who has come a long, long way and has completely transformed into not only a decent human being but a kind one. Peter, as much as he acts tough and distant, he does have a good heart, I believe. I've no idea if it's always been there or it's a completely change but it's there now and there's no denying and to just think about how big of a change that is completely astounds me. To think that he and that boy who tricked me into giving him my heart in Skull Rock are the same person is almost laughable. I mean sure, he's not perfect but he's definitely not trying to trick me into giving him my heart and saving his island anymore. He's really truly trying to help me find Neal this time and I know it's not a ploy.

"It's rude to stare, bird," Peter's voice says dryly, jolting me back to the present. I blink a couple of times and focus on Peter, who's staring right back at me intently, a smirk smeared across his mouth.

"I wasn't staring." I was definitely staring.

Peter just rolls his eyes and sits up in bed, resting his elbows on his knees and looking around the room, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. "If you say so," he tells me, the corner of his mouth still pulled up into a half smile.

There's a pause and we both sit in silence, both of us remembering what today is and how important it is. It's very nearly the end of our journey and may very well be close to the end of my life altogether if we don't find a spell or some other magical fix. I may even see Neal today. There's so much riding on today, it feels like we're standing at the very top of a mountain, just about to come crashing down the side of it.

Finally, I slip out of bed and walk quickly over to the bathroom. There's no point in dragging out the waiting process any longer. I've got to face this day, even if all that it promises terrifies me. I quickly go through the motions, but get held up short when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I don't usually take much time to examine myself, but today, I can't seem to turn away from my reflection. Not that I'm completely entranced by myself or anything like that. Instead, it's the thin, white, barely noticeable scar just under my hairline. I push back the frizzy mess I like to call hair and stare at it.

The last time I was even aware that I had this was the last time I was standing in front of a mirror, trying to convince myself to not be kind to Peter. That seems like eons ago, when in fact it was only a few months ago. Thinking about it now, that mentality, that I had back then, of withholding my kindness from Peter hurt me much more than this scar ever did. Of course, it was painful and I hate it and how I feel and act towards Peter now doesn't justify it. But my relationship with Peter now makes me feel so good now, it makes this scar seem insignificant.

How much Peter cares for me and how good he makes me feel about myself far outweighs very nearly all the wrongs he's ever done to me.

I grip the cool counter of the sink so hard my knuckles turn white. The world seems to have gotten smaller all at once, but it also seems to be ginormous around me. I can feel my heartbeat pounding in my ears and my breath coming in short bursts. I feel so infinitely calm and content, but still completely anxious about what this means for my entire life.

"Wendy!" Peter knocks on the door so loudly that I'm afraid he'll break it down. "We need to go _now!_ "

I push aside my whirlwind of thoughts for a moment to open the door to find Peter, looking more than a little stressed and antsy. He stands before me fidgeting, trying to maintain a calm facade.

"What do you mean? Check out's not supposed to be for another hour. We have time," I tell him calmly.

"Uh, no," he tells me. "The innkeeper just came to tell me he double booked our room and he needs us out now." For as long as I've known him, Peter can convince anyone of anything, but today just must not be his day.

"Don't lie to me, Peter Pan," I warn him. "What's this really about?" Peter stops fidgeting for a moment. His face for once is not an unmistakable mask of perfect indifference. It's filled with anxiety and… fear. I reach out and squeeze his hand. "What's wrong, Peter? What's this really about?"

Peter swallows and runs a hand through his hair, before finally admitting, "I think I just saw some of those merchants from a few months back come into the inn from the window."

"Why didn't you think you could tell me that? We're a team," I tell him seriously. "We handled them the last time, we can handle them again."

Peter closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I-I know," he says softly. "I just don't want you to get hurt again."

I reach out and sweep his dark hair off his forehead. "It'll be okay. Let's just pack up quickly then," I explain and we do just that.

We're out of the inn and on the road in less than ten minutes with no sight of the merchant. I immediately feel at ease and am about to turn my thoughts towards my bathroom discovery when I notice that Peter's still just as anxious as before, if not more so. Even as we trudge up the steep mountain path, urging the horses up and up, he looks over his shoulder every few moments, scanning the ledges and crevices. He does this the entire way to the mansion and once we reach it, he insists on going all the way around to the back of the mansion just to tie up the horses.

"I really think this is overkill," I tell him, swinging off of Ash. Peter doesn't look back at me as he unties his pack from Samson. "I'm serious. This is overboard."

"I'm just being cautious," he tells me. He swings his bag off the horse and makes his way over to the rickety wooden gate that leads into the large stone manor, that looks ominously over us with it's black marble finishes and darkened windows that must have once not been so dingy with dust.

"And I'm being serious. This isn't like you," I push. I know there's something he's not telling me. Maybe he still feels guilty about everything surrounding the merchants, maybe he's aware that that was one of the most major blow-ups of our relationship, if not the biggest and he doesn't want to relive it. I don't know what it is, but something is not normal.

Peter doesn't respond and simply stalks into the mansion. I huff under my breath and follow after him, suddenly seeming to remember that there's a good chance that Neal is in here But as soon as I step through the doorway, I know he isn't here. The cold that immediately hits me seeps down into my bones and the dust that layers everything is so thing that I realize that what I thought was carpet is just in fact a very dusty stone floor of what must have been a kitchen.

"He's not here," I rush out immediately. Peter drops his bag onto a low table, and begins to head out of the room. "Peter!" I call after him and again he doesn't respond. I'm beginning to get upset now. He's being rude and selfish not telling me what's going on and it's frustrating having him act like this when we need to just get to the end of this journey. I'm tired and I'm scared and I'm worried and he is not helping one bit. In fact he's adding to all of my stress.

I burst out of the kitchen into a large dining room that opens up into a large foyer with a winding staircase leading up to the second floor. I see Peter by the top of the stairs, disappear down the hall. I quickly follow him up the stairs, growing angrier with each step.

"Peter!" I call and still get no answer. I rush down the hall and soon find him in what I thought would be a library but seems to be a large sitting room that looks down onto the craggy steep mountain path and the small village below. He stands with his back to me, all his muscles tense and his hands in fists at his side.

I reach out and turn him to face me and he nearly jumps. "Peter, what the hell is going on?" I demand. "I want an explanation. This isn't just about the merchants is it?" He looks down at me, his face in that cold, unreadable mask that I hate so much and it makes me so angry with him I want to smack it right off his face. I sigh and run my fingers through my hair. Questioning hasn't helped me any so instead I try and give him my best cold, disappointed look which I'm very sure is not very effective.

After a few moments, Peter raises his eyebrows, slightly amused with me and says, "The stare down is not your best asset, bird." I roll my eyes. Peter sighs. "You know, I never apologized to you, like I said I would. I should have sooner," he admits. He meanders over to a chair that looks like it's being held together by a thread and sinks into it.

"I'm not sure how that's related to the merchants."

Peter shakes his head. "They're not," he says at length. "They're just both things I'm worried about at the moment."

"You don't need to worry about either of them at the moment," I try to reassure him. I still haven't gotten to the root of the issue, but we need to keep moving and now just isn't the time for Peter's apology. "I very much doubt that the merchants are following us and we'll find some time soon for your apology. For the time being, how about we go and look through the library and then we'll have a nice dinner and perhaps then we can talk about your-"

I break off mid sentence as I see a group of figures off in the very far distance, picking their way up the steep mountain path by foot. I can't make out many details from here, but the men picking their way up the mountain path certainly could be the merchants.

"My God, you were right, Peter. They are following us."

Peter looks back wildly at the merchants making their way towards the path and I can see his entire body go rigid. He stands up abruptly from the chair and turns wildly to me. "I want to apologize now," he tells me.

"What? Why? Don't you think we should go take care of them. I don't know why you're going on about the apology today of all days," I rush out, more confused than ever.

"It doesn't matter," Peter grits out. "I just want you to know about how far I've tried to come and how I'm doing better by you and how sorry I am for all the pain I've caused you-"

"Peter! Stop this right now!" I bite out. "Now is not the time for this. I wouldn't want you to apologize to me right now even if the merchants weren't here. Now, let's go down there and deal with them-"

Peter grabs out frantically and clutches my hands tightly. He holds my gaze with an intensity that I've never seen before. In his eyes I see fear and terror and it shakes me to see him like this. He's completely unhinged. "You know how much I care about you, right?" he asks, pleadingly. "And how far I've come and how hard I've tried?" I nod.

"Peter," I try and say calmly, but he's not even looking at me. His gaze in on the merchants that are swiftly making their way up the path to the mansion and I can't quite make out any particular feature and I can't figure out why, but they don't look like the merchants to me.

He turns back to me, his eye even more wild. He lets go of my hands, holding my face gently but with a demanding urgency that makes my heart beat fast.

"They don't look like the merchants-"

"I love you," he blurts out. "And you trust me. Just please remember that whatever happens." I'm completely speechless. I feel like my heart's about to spring right out of my chest, but I also know that even though he may mean what he's saying, he's saying it out of fear and anxiety and I don't want that. Before I can even tell him so, his mouth is pressed urgently on mine and even though I'd like to let him kiss me, I twist out of his arms and push him away.

"Peter, stop!" I shout. "I don't know what's going on with you but this is not acceptable! You're saying all of these things because you're terrified. And you aren't being very kind either. In fact you're being selfish." Peter stares at me, his chest heaving and his eyes wild. He doesn't make a move, just stares at me like I'm about to disappear. "Now those merchants don't actually look like what I remember of them," I say sidestepping so I can get a better look at them and Peter moves immediately to block my view, but it's too late. They're close enough for me to see now and once I recognize them, my heart drops and I feel my blood turn to ice.

"Oh my God. Those aren't the merchants. Those are the Lost Boys."

I can't even believe the words came out of my mouth, much less that they're even the truth. But that's what it is. I would recognize the last set of Lost Boys anywhere, Felix's loyal followers, the ones who made it back to Storybrooke. I can see all five of them, the nastiest ones who were on that island, the ones who I hated the most.

I look back to Peter and he looks so broken, so guilty. I can't believe that I thought he was afraid for my safety. He was afraid of getting caught. I don't know what's happening but I know Pan is at the centre of it.

"Explain yourself, Pan," I spit.

"Wendy, don't do this-"

"Explain yourself, goddamnit!" My hands are balled so tightly into fists, I'm afraid my nails might draw blood. "I don't know what the fuck is going on but I know you're the cause!"

"Bird, you've got to understand this was before-"

"I don't care! Just tell the truth for once in your entire life!"

Pan takes a shaky breath and runs his hands through his hair. His jaw clenches and I can see every muscle in his body tighten. "I was originally working with the Lost Boys," he begins. "I had been alive a little while longer before you came along. I had had time to find the Lost Boys, or for them to find me. I knew what had happened to Neal and that you'd inevitably come looking for him, with the star. So we made a plan."

I cover my hands with my face. "Fuck! I knew it! I knew from the start you had an ulterior motive and I fucking fell for the ruse again! Goddamnit!" I whip my hands off my face and glare at him.

He just seems to deflate even more. "We wanted Neverland back, and to get it back, we needed to star and the Heart of the Truest Believer," he says, so softly that it's just a whisper. His voice is so filled with shame and regret and it makes me want to scream. "And you just happened to have both."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this."

"So, I decided that I could pretend to partner up with you to get the star in exchange for helping you on the journey and along the way, I would charm you enough to get your heart, all the while the Lost Boys would follow until I had both." He pauses and takes a deep breath. "So, I positioned myself so that you would find me and I convinced you that a partnership would be best."

My breath comes in shaky spasms and I feel like the world is spinning. "It was all a lie."

"No, no, it wasn't," Pan tries to comfort. He takes a step towards me and I take three back.

"Don't you dare come near me," I spit. "I have never felt so used in my entire life." I try and collect myself enough to not dissolve into a complete maelstrom of tears and anger and cussing.

"The first little bit, I tried to pretend, but you made me doubt myself. All of myself," he says quietly. "And suddenly, I wasn't pretending anymore. And then when I saw my life in the Grey's cloak, I knew that I couldn't go through with it, knowing how I felt about you and myself and all that I had done.

"So the night that I left, that I meant the merchants, first I went and told the Lost Boys that the deal was off and that they needed to get the hell away from us. They wouldn't take no for an answer, but I may or may not have used quite a bit of force and magic and thought that all was done. And then I got drunk and picked a fight with the merchants."

"Oh my God, they said you kept calling it a heart and it had to be given out of free will. You weren't talking about the fucking star, you were talking about my heart! This entire time everything was a lie! Every single goddamn thing!" I feel like the world is slipping out from under me. I feel like I'm being tossed and tumbled around in this spinning hell. I'm afraid I might faint or throw up or cry. Instead, my stomach decides to just throw up and before I know it I'm kneeling over what hopefully must have been a garbage can, vomiting.

Pan's there immediately, holding back my hair, rubbing my back and offering me water. I push him but take the water. Once I finish dry heaving, I take a few swigs of the water, spitting it out and trying to get the sour taste out of my mouth. Hopefully, this will also get the bitterness out of my body, but no.

We sit in silence for a few moments before Peter ventures, "Now they must have caught up with us and they're going to probably try and steal the star and your heart forcefully." He sighs. "And I know there are more pressing matters at hand, but for the record, not everything was a lie."

"I can't believe you've told me all of this and you're still trying to lie straight to my face," I bite out. I can't even look at him. Instead I glare out the window at the approaching Lost Boys. "I can't believe that after all this time, I've been tricked into doing the exact same thing." I let out a bitter laugh. "A hundred years, and here I am. With my heart on the line, you lying to save Neverland and my brother's life hanging in the balance." I slam my hand down on the cool marble floor. "An entire century and I still fucking fall for the lies and the scheming!"

"Wendy, I wasn't lying when I said that I love you. I do and I've been-"

I whip back and glare at him. "Don't you dare try and even bring that up! I can't believe a single word you say! And there is no way in hell that you love me, not with what you've done to get here." I run my hands through my hair. "I thought I trusted you. Fuck. I thought I loved you. Hell. I think I might have been ready to forgive you." I shake my head. "But you are still just the same, evil, lying, scheming haven't changed one bit since the day I met you and you ruined my entire life. There is not a single good particle in your entire body. Everywhere you go and everything you do is meant to hurt someone." I let out a sharp breath. I know that what I'm about to say is cruel, but he is more cruel. "God, your mother must be turning in her grave thinking about what you've become."

Pan flinches like he's been slapped and I can see tears start to form in his eyes, threatening to burst out. "Oh no, you don't. You are not allowed to cry here. You're not the one who's been hurt here. You're always the villain and I always get fucked over by you. Every single time." I clench my hands. "I'm the one who trusted and loved you. I'm the one who got hurt." I wipe at my cheeks to find tears already there and for the umpteenth time on this journey I realize that I've already been crying.

I pause for a moment and take a deep breath. "You've completely betrayed me. You played me for a fool. You tricked me into loving you. God, you almost got my heart again. I hate you so-"

Pan moves so quickly I don't even realize he's moved before his lips are pressed firmly on mine and his hands are snaking up through my hair and-

"Get off me!" I yell against his mouth before reeling back and hitting his head with mine. He jumps off immediately but not before I slap him smartly across the mouth. "Don't you dare even touch me, you bastard!" I spring up immediately and try to make my way out of the room. I can't even stand to be near him right now.

Pan jumps up and grabs hold of my hand. I twist out of his grip.

"Please, bird," he pleads. He's looking at me like I'm his salvation thats about to crumble into pieces right before him. And maybe I am."I lied, but I'm telling you the truth now. I've broken ties with them and they're after you. I don't want to hurt you. I lo-"

I glare at him. A tear slips down his cheek, but he ignores it. His eyes are anything but icy right now. They're open and broken and so unbelievably heartbroken, it makes my own heart ache. His hair is a complete mess, falling completely out of place everywhere. His mouth is set in a deep frown. His jaw is clenched tight along with the rest of his body. He looks like he's about to shatter.

I could shatter him.

 _Don't be good, Wendy._

It feels like running my hands over broken glass, knowing what I'm about say to him, but he's betrayed me and ruined any chance of a relationship.

"I hate you, Peter Pan. You are my life's greatest unhappiness. Everything that you have been a part of in my entire life has just hurt me. You break everything. You bring heartache and pain everywhere. You've done that to me and to Gavin and everyone else. You're far too jagged and brittle and evil to be loved. You wouldn't have been loved by your mother. And you won't ever be loved by me."

Pan just crumbles before me. He kneels on the floor, his head in his hands as sobs wrack his body. He quivers and cries and moans on the floor and it breaks my heart to see him like this. I wish this had never happened. I wish I could have continued loving him. I wish he could have continued to grow into that kind person I thought he was.

He breaks everything. He's too jagged and brittle and evil to be loved. And if I do love him, I'll get caught on one of his sharp edges and I'll continue to be hurt by him.

I finally turn my back on him before slipping out of the room. I make my way swiftly through the house, ready to get on Ash and get the hell out of here before Peter or the Lost Boys find me.

As I'm stepping out of the kitchen into the back of the mansion, I hear a small creak and then something large and heavy comes and strikes me in the back of the head and all I know is darkness.


	39. Bitterseed

"Time to wake up, bird," a hot breath sneers into my ear and I feel my hair yanked back so hard I'm sure they've pulled a chunk of it out. My head snaps up and is pulled back so far is smashes against the back of the chair.

I snap my eyes open.

Where the hell am I?

After the world stops spinning, I blink my eyes a couple of times, adjusting to the light and trying desperately to focus on something, anything. I feel dizzy and weak and completely disoriented. I grab hold of my senses long enough to understand that I'm sitting in some sort of chair, with my hands, feet and torso bound to it with coarse rope. I seem to be in some sort of cellar, with damp dark walls making up the small room that's dingy and water logged. Before me is a simple table and behind that a metal door. In front of the door and to my left stand five boys who I recognize after a few moments.

The five remaining Lost Boys.

Why couldn't the decent ones have come to the Enchanted Forest?

These are some of the nastiest, meanest, cruelest boys I've ever come across in my entire time on Neverland. They were practically all made to be a Lost Boy. Each of them has no regard for responsibility or respect or decency. Each thrive off of pain and suffering and humiliation. They adored the complete mayhem and chaos of Neverland. They loved that they got to do whatever they dam well pleased with no consequences. They bullies back there, but now I'm afraid they have the capacity for much more, judging by the hungry looks in their eyes.

I search each of their faces, hoping that there might be one slightly kinder face but I find none. Instead, I see Jonah, a tall, dark lanky boy who had come to Neverland perhaps thirty years ago. I seem to recall him being from Earth because he's also from Britain. Next is Phillip, short and pudgy, with oily blond hair and predatory green eyes. He's best mates with James, short and compact with dark hair and even darker eyes, who stands next to him. They both came from the Enchanted Forest. Then there's Thomas, red haired and hard-eyed, from some place called Arendelle. And then the worst of them all, the one who yanked on my hair so hard I thought he might rip my head off, Liam. He's ordinary looking with light brown hair and deep brown eyes. One might look right through him if they weren't looking for him. But I remember him most horrifically. He'd been around maybe two decades and I remember at first finding him quite charming. But then having that image shattered when I found him one day in the forest catching animals, tying them up and slicing them into ribbons. Horrific.

It shoots ice through my veins knowing that I'm completely at their mercy.

I'm beyond terrified. I'm numb with fear. I feel completely paralysed.

"Good to see you're up finally," Liam drawls. He twists my hair around his finger and I notice it's matted in blood. I slowly register that it must be from the throbbing pain at the base of my neck.

Then it comes rushing back to me.

The mansion, all the lies and the ultimate truth, the Lost Boys following us, Peter broken on the floor, racing out of the kitchen and then-

"You hit me in the head," I say groggily. My voice comes out slow and sloppy.

"Surprised?" I'm sure the look on my face gives it away. "We drugged you to keep you out of it while we brought you some place secure," Jonah explains. "Couldn't have you waking up and escaping now, could we?"

"What did you do to Peter?" I ask slowly, my words sloshing together.

Fuck. Pan. He's Pan now.

Phillip grins. "He was still crying like a baby on the floor when we left," he sneers. "Felix always said you made him soft. We didn't realize how soft that really was. He's pathetic now."

I want to shoot back that Pan is far from pathetic and it's naive to underestimate him but my tongue feels thick and heavy and so I just let out a sharp breath.

"Anyway, we're fairly certain you're up to date on what we want from you, judging by the complete mess Pan was when we got you," James puts in. "But we know you're still pretty slow from the drugs and you were never all that sharp to begin with, so we're going to spell it out for you."

"We want the star and your heart," Liam tells me, enunciating every word so sharply spit flicks into my face with each syllable. "You're going to give both up."

"Never," I slur.

Liam laughs. "Not after we're through with you."

"The heart and star have to be given to you by me," I explain slowly, making sure my words don't stumble into each other. "I'll never given them to you."

"I think you seriously underestimate how persuasive we can be," Liam chuckles. "After all we had both Felix and Pan as teachers." He steps in front of me and glares down at me. "We're going to put you through so much pain, giving up your heart will seem like a gift to yourself." He grins and comes close to my face. He reeks of body odour and alcohol. It makes me gag. "But for right now, we're going to start with the star."

"I don't have it," I lie.

Liam hits me so hard across the face I don't even realize he's done it until after my cheek starts to sting and my teeth stop vibrating inside my head. I feel a hand wind up in my hair and pull back, hard.

"Don't lie to us," I hear Jonah sneer into my ear. "We know you have it on you right now in that pretty little blue dress of yours." It's hardly pretty anymore, but he's right. It is in my dress. A few months back I realized I needed to have the star on me at all times. So I sewed small pockets into the necklines on all my dresses to keep the star. It's so small it's nearly impossible to find.

"You're not going to find it."

"We don't have to," Liam says straightening up and motioning to Phillip and James who disappear out of the room for a few moments. I crane my neck to see what's beyond it but I only seem more echoey darkness. I see no sign of daylight or moonlight. If my suspicions are correct, we're underground. "We can just let the fire find it."

My mind slows for a moment and then slams into full speed. "What?"

"We know you have the star on your person," Jonah explains calmly. "We're going to set your dress on fire and either it'll burn through whatever hidden pocket the star is in or…" he leans close and whispers in my ear. "We'll burn through you and you'll give up the star."

My heart slams against my chest.

"You're sick," I spit at them.

Phillip and James re-enter the room chuckling. One of them holds a bright torch and the other two large pails of water.

"We prefer inventive," James chuckles.

"Now, Wendy, we're going to give you a chance to give us the star before we set you on fire. So now would be the time. We really don't want to hurt you," Liam says before dissolving into a fit of giggles. He then immediately straightens and wipes a fake tear away. "Oh, who are we kidding? We really do want to hurt you." He turns to Phillip. "Light her up."

Phillip stalks towards be across the room, slinking around each of the other Lost Boys, like a chubby cat stalking its prey. He grins at me coolly before lowering the torch down to the hem of my skirt.

As they lower the torch down, all I can think about is how there is no way out of this situation. There is no way in hell that I can squirm myself out of this. Either, I'm getting burned alive or they're getting the star. Probably both. It may be time to throw in the towel and give up.

With a rush, the hem catches fire and at first I'm not sure that they even did it. I don't feel anything and then suddenly, there's heat around my feet and ankles. It starts off bearable but before I know it, I can almost feel it crawling all over my skin, eating up my skirt and gorging it's way up my dress, closer to me.

I've never been faced with fire before. I've gone through hell and back, but fire was never one of the tortures I had to live through. I was never particularly fearful of it until now. I underestimated it. How it just eats up everything in it's path, leaving nothing behind. It's all-consuming.

Oh, God.

I can hear myself screaming in the background as the fire reach up passed my knees, scorching my legs. The fire not only brings pain but leaves it behind. My legs still feel like they're on fire.

I'm so terrified.

How can I live through this?

How can anyone?

And then a singular, perfect face comes to my mind and I'm jolted, if only for a moment, out of my total all-consuming fear.

John.

John survived Gold's mansion burning down. He made it out. He lived through it. He endured it. He faced it and won.

Then a realization crystallizes in my mind.

If I don't give up the star now, I may never see him or any of my other brothers ever again. I'll have no chance of surviving. The star, although it's important, isn't the end-all-be-all of the Lost Boy's plans. I won't have lost if they get this and I'll survive. It'll be much harder for them to get my heart, but they won't kill me.

If I give up the star now, I can survive. I can see my brothers. I can see my family.

And that's what pushes me over the edge, to cry out with a smoke choked voice, "Stop! Stop it! It's in my collar!"

Immediately, ice cold water is thrown on me and instead of the immediate relief I expected, I feel stinging pain all over my fresh burns and I scream. I scream so loud that my voice grows even more hoarse than before. I think I'm going to pass out from the pain.

I feel my hair yanked back and pulled alway as greedy hands rip my collar apart to produce the tiny velvet pouch that I keep the star it. It's ripped away from me and for a wild second, I hope that they don't realize that to be able to use it, I need to give them permission. But then I feel a stinging slap across my face, mirroring my burns.

"Give us permission to use the star," Liam spits out. He knots my hair into his hands and yanks it backwards and I see stars.

I look him in the eye, defiantly. Just because I gave them the star doesn't me I'm giving up completely. Liam glares at me. I'm expecting him to hit me again, but instead I feel his boot make contact with the burns on my legs and I scream out in complete agony.

Letting go of my hair and taking my face roughly in his hand, he demands, "Give us permission to the goddamn star!" I just glare at him and without a second's hesitation, I feel his boot make contact with my leg again and I dissolve into shrieks.

I don't know how much longer I can take of this. I can already start to see the edges of my vision blurring together and the world feels like it's tilting sideways. I'm in so much pain I want to peel myself out of my own body.

I don't know if I'm closer to giving up or passing out.

A new pain jolts me out of my head and I come to register that Jonah has begun sliding a knife across my legs, making ribbons out of my burnt flesh. And that's the last straw.

"Fuck," I curse. "Fine. I give you permission to the star." Immediately, Jonah withdraws his knife and wipes it across his pants, smearing my blood across them.

Liam chuckles above me. "Fantastic. You gave the star up so nice and easy," he grins. "Hopefully, it'll only take another two days to get your heart." He smiles down at me with a predatory look in his eyes. "Don't know why the fuck it took Pan so long to get it from you. Useless bugger. Glad to be rid of him."

Somehow, this is news to me but my mind's too groggy to understand anything. All I know is it won't be so easy to get my heart from me. I wouldn't give it to Pan, who I thought I loved, so there is no way in hell they'll get it.

I must have muttered something to this extent because Liam responds with, "Felix said you always made Pan too soft. That's why he couldn't get the job done." Somewhere in the back of my mind, I recall a night that seems like eons ago when Felix told me the exact same thing. All I can think about that moment is that I'm overjoyed that he's not alive to see this.

"Well, guess we're done for the day then," Liam says casually, but there's nothing casual about the way he brings my head slamming down onto the table in front of me and I immediately sink into complete darkness.

I wake up slowly what seems to be only a few seconds later, but judging by the still silence of the room, its been hours. I blink dazedly around the room, trying to grab at more details that could possibly help me, but nothing remains. From what I can tell, the door locks from the outside, which won't be very helpful. On top of this, it's large and made of heavy metal that I know I'll never be able to break down even if I tried with all my might. The table in front of me is plain wood and unremarkable save for my blood splattered across it. There's nothing else in this entire room besides me and the chair.

I begin to twist and see if any of my bindings are loose or can be loosened. To my complete and total surprise, I no longer have ropes around my feet. I rationalize that they must have been burnt off when they set my skirt on fire. I immediately try and jump up, but when I put weight on my legs I cry out and fall back into the chair defeatedly.

I forgot about the burns.

I raise my legs up slowly and one at a time. They're both expertly bandages with clean wrappings. I recall distantly that Thomas was rather interested in medicine and I taught him a little bit before he became more interested in the violence of the island.

Either way, there's no possible way that I'll be running on these right now. It's almost as painful to move them as it was to have them burned.

Immediately, flashes of my first torture session seize me and I feel all the pain and fear and horror bubble up in me, threatening to burst. I choke them all down. I can't lose it right now. I need to stay relatively calm. I need to get out of here. It's my only hope of seeing my brothers again, even if may only be Neal and even if I'll die shortly after. I need to get out. I need to gather as much information as I can and get the hell out of here. I survived Pan not once but twice, I can survive these Lost Boys.

Speaking of Peter, I think back to what Liam said about. In fact there were a number of things he said that make me think that Pan isn't actually working with them. I mean he called Pan pathetic and weak and a useless bugger and too soft and a total mess. Not to mention the fact that he literally said that he's glad to be rid of him and that Pan couldn't get the job done. It seems to me that perhaps Pan was telling the truth that he did break ties with him.

But maybe, he still is and it's just a mind game he's playing. To still appear as a hero to me so that if he doesn't magically appear I'll give up my heart.

But it still doesn't fully follow. He was so close to getting my heart before all of this had happened. It would have been much easier to continue on the way things had been to get the heart. It's so much energy to stage a kidnapping and torture. Not to mention it would be silly to ruin our entire relationship just before I was kidnapped. It would be easier to just leave him as the hero. It doesn't make any sense and it's definitely not Pan's style. He liked to work alone, to do things on his own. Sure he liked to have followers who would do the dirty work, but he was always in charge. Staging this just wouldn't be him and it wouldn't make sense.

The conviction that I had before that he is completely to blame for all of this, that he's orchestrating all of this doesn't seem as strong or as solid as before. I'm not quite sure of anything about him at this point.

All I'm certain of is that I have to get out of here and get to my family.

Suddenly, the door slams open, ringing out with a raucous clang, making me jump. The sound reverberates in my head and makes me feel dizzy. Somewhere in the back of my mind, my medical knowledge tells me that I most certainly have some sort of head trauma, a concussion probably. It's perhaps why I feel so sluggish and confused even after I'm sure the drugs they've given me have worn off.

All five Lost Boys stomp in, one after the other, with grim grins on their faces, obviously ready to inflict as much pain on me as their shrivelled hearts desire. Jonah comes to stand right in front of me, leaning casually against the table while the others lurk on the edges of the room.

"Well, good morning, Wendy," he chuckles down at me. "Or should I say good evening?"

It's hard to focus on his words, but I finally grasp what he's saying. "What time is it?"

"It's eight o'clock in the evening. You've been asleep for nearly eighteen hours. Rather impressive," he tells me. Oh, God. I've been down here much longer than I even thought.

"How many days have I been here?" I ask.

"You don't need to know," he tells me. "I'm hoping that without a good grip on time, you'll slip further and further into the pit of despair I'm quite sure you're already in." Unfortunately, he's right. I have one thing to grasp onto as the truth. I need at least one more thing that I know for certain. I need time. Without it, I'm not sure what I'll have to grasp onto. I don't trust the sharpness of my mind right now. This head trauma makes me feel as if I've just woken up in the middle of an exam with no idea how to answer any of the questions or give any explanation as to why I'm even there to begin with.

"I don't care," I manage to lie. Jonah looks at me, unimpressed.

"Lying never suited you," he drawls. He claps his hands together. "I'm bored of this useless chit-chat. Let's do us all a favour and let's get your heart out of you as soon as possible, shall we?"

I suppose I was wrong before. There is another truth I'm certain of.

"You are never getting my heart," I tell him, vehemently. "There's no way in hell."

"Well, once I put you through it, I'm sure you'll find a way in hell," Jonah sneers. With unimaginable speed he reaches out and pushes the chair backwards. For a moment, I'm rather unimpressed with his method until I realize that my arms are tied to the back of the chair. By the time I realize that this actually is quite a painful idea, I'm hitting the floor with impressive force.

I feel my arms crumple underneath me and I feel bones crackle against each other. It feels like my very arms are being turned into splinters underneath my own weight and the force that brought me here. I'd scream out in agony, except for the fact that all the air has been pushed out of my lungs and I'm left to splutter and gasp and choke for any gulp of air that my traumatized lungs might get.

My vision comes in and out, marred and twisted by black holes and stars swimming in my eyes. I feel so disoriented that I'm not even sure off my own name. All I'm aware of is that fact that I can't get a breath in. I try and gulp and heave and swallow but nothing gets in or out. I feel as if I'm drowning, when suddenly, I'm lifted upright and faced with Jonah again.

He grins down at me as I take delicious, satisfying gulps of air. It's never felt so good to breathe, I can almost ignore the excruciating pain in my arms. I'm certain at least one of them is broken.

"How was that, bird?" The pet name screams out in my mind and I have no idea why but I find myself dry heaving again. I've no idea if it's because the fall is still taking it's toll on me, or if the very name Pan gave me repulses me so or if the name only sounds right coming from Peter. No. Pan. Not Peter anymore.

Jonah raises his eyebrows, his mouth curving into a smile. "Not a big fan of the name, are we?" He chuckles. "Well, that's at least one thing we have in common."

"What?" I manage breathlessly.

Jonah looks confused. "Our mutual hatred of Pan. Isn't it obvious?"

"But… but you work for him," I slur out.

"No, not anymore," Jonah explains. "Not after he came to us one day blubbering on about you and morals and his stupid little mother and something about a cape or a scarf-"

"A cloak," I tell him. Their story matches his. They hate him. But it doesn't prove they're not lying. They still could be working for him.

"Whatever. He came to us crying one night, going on about all that bullshit, told us we had to stop the plan altogether. We obviously refused," Jonah scoffs. "I mean, do we look like a bunch of feckless idiots?" Debatable. "No! We weren't going to give up Neverland so he could sweep you of your fucking feet and put his guilty conscience to rest."

"That doesn't prove you're not working for him," I try and reason. At this point I'm not even sure what I'm trying to reason. The pain in my arms and the constriction in my chest are almost unbearable. Not to mention the fact that the world has yet to stop spinning and that every sound seems like a screech.

"If we were working for him, you think we'd be getting the heart this way?" I shrug. "I'm not too cocky to admit it. He was way closer to getting your heart than we are. If we were still working for him, you'd be at some prissy little romantic dinner getting your heart stolen, literally."

"But he could come in here and pretend to save me."

"After destroying your relationship beforehand? That makes no sense," Jonah tells me. "Man, we've done a wicked number on your head, haven't we?" He chuckles. "I'm impressed with us. The once sharp as a tack Wendy is now as slow as molasses." He lets out another short laugh. "You'll be much easier to torture this way." And with that he knocks me over again.

The rest of what happens is a complete blur to me. I don't know if it's because I simply can't remember any of it or if I just completely closed in on myself and perhaps became slightly immune to it. Throughout the entire ordeal I play old memories of my family over and over again. Ones that are so old, that seem to have yellowed and faded like an old photograph, but I still know them well. Ones of playing with Nana in our tiny garden. One of playing make-believe with my brothers. Ones of Mother softly reading bedtime stories in her soothing voice as I drifted off to sleep wrapped in my warm covers. Ones of Father giving me piggybacks and racing all around the house. Ones with our trips to the ocean, and spending hours along the shore with my three brothers, telling tales and finding wonderful, little prizes, like beach glass and wonderfully smooth stones to bring back to my parents.

Every once in a while, my mind slips and a memory of Pan and I together pushes it's way in. Once its of us on the dock, with his arms tightly around me, or our kiss the morning after, or lazy hours reading with him. My minds too groggy and muddled at this point to even shut them down. I let them stay, if only for a little while and then turn back to my family.

After a while I become aware that the torture is over or perhaps I'm knocked too hard and I'm thrown into unconsciousness. Whatever it is, I spend at lest a little while in complete darkness and I'm not quite sure but I think that my head feels better for it and I can find a little bit of peace. But before long they're back and the pain and violence repeats.

I cling tightly to the memories as the torture continues. And when I run out of them, I think of scenes that would bring me happiness. At first, they're small simple things, like a clean glass of water, or fluffy bread with butter or a soft bed. But as my pain worsens, the imaginings get more elaborate. A book to cuddle up with by a fire place, another dog like Nana, a golden retriever with big brown eyes, to go on walks with, someone with bright blue eyes who holds me tightly, and finally, a small cooing baby to hold in my arms. I grasp as tightly to the imaginings as I possibly can, just as I did before with the memories, and like that another session or two of torture passes. I'm not quite sure what happened in either of them. I think one of them involved knives and I'm quite certain that the other involved my head being smashed into a basin of water and held there.

I no longer have the capacity to understand what's happening or what's being done to me. All I feel is pain that seeps down into my very soul and makes me feel raw and numb and completely broken. I've never known or imagined such violence before. Jonah was not lying when he said I'd be put through hell. I'm not even being put through it. I'm being dragged through it.

Finally, as I'm drifting back into darkness again, I'm abruptly pulled out of it, not even being allowed my normal time of rest before the torture repeats itself. Someone snaps my head backwards and I'm left blinking up at a freckled face.

"Thomas," I murmur.

"Amazing, you know names," he sneers into my face.

"I want to sleep," I slur.

"No," he says firmly. I'm slowly becoming aware that the other Lost Boys are here too. "This has gone on for far too long. We're still no closer to breaking you and I'm getting impatient." He grins. "So they've finally given me the go ahead for my plan." I blink at him. "I know you're obviously too out of it to remember, but I recall back when I was your little teacher's pet you telling me something about what you aspire to be the most."

I try and think about what that is, but my mind has officially been brought to a complete halt.

"Can't recall? Let me enlighten you," Thomas tells me. "You aspire most to be a mother."

I feel my heart break in my chest. I'm not at my sharpest right now, but I don't need to be a genius to predict what's about to happen.

He must see me realizing what he's about to do because he nods and smiles. "Ah, you understand," he observes. "We were sitting around thinking about how to take away your will to live and I remembered this juicy little bit of information. Now isn't that just wonderful?"

Oh, God.

He holds up a vial of inky liquid. "Now, I'm no doctor or scientist, but I do know a thing or two about poisons. And this one, extracted from this foreign plant called bitterseed, will make any woman barren." He shakes it in front of my eyes.

Oh, God.

"So, we're going to given this to you, intravenously, because I know you'd sooner choke and die on this than swallow it and see how long it takes you before you realize you no longer have any real reason to live."

I completely underestimated Thomas. He's the cruelest of them all.

Oh, God.

I can feel my life draining out of me, as Thomas fills a needle with the black liquid. My heart races and slams wildly in my chest. I vaguely register that I'm screaming and sobbing suddenly in the background, pleading with them, pleading to do anything but this. Oh, God. Please not this. Why did it have to be this? I feel like cursing myself all those years ago. God. Oh, God. I don't know if I can live with myself if I can't be a mother. Oh, God. Oh, God.

He finishes filling the needle and begins reaching for me, the needle firmly in his hand, held like a weapon. I wildly lash about and even manage to topple myself over, flying back onto my arms and having the air knocked out of me again, but this time it doesn't even feel like pain. All I'm away of is that I have to get away from that cursed, damned needle. I need to get away, but I feel myself being hauled up, back towards Thomas and he doesn't even hesitate, doesn't even give me a second to flail around before he jams the needle in my vein and pushes down.

I scream.

I feel no physical pain but I can feel my soul being ripped apart, piece by piece. I can feel it fracturing inside me and imploding, sending out shards in every direction. It bursts and breaks and shatters inside of me as I scream. My heart begins to shatter along with it. It cracks and crumbles into a million different pieces, flying around inside of the broken shell I feel I am now. They've stolen all I ever wanted to be, to have from me. No amount of replying memories or making up imaginings can shield me from this kind of pain.

I feel like there is nothing left of me.

I'm destroyed.

I continue to scream and sob until there's nothing left of my voice and I finally let myself quite to deal with the darkness and pain that's before me. I sit numbly in the chair, my head hanging low, tears still falling down into the lap of my dress, my arms broken, my dress burnt to a crisp, covered in bruises and cuts. None of the pain ever caused by any of those wounds will ever amount to the tiny amount of bitterseed coursing through my veins, poisoning my body.

I stay that way for what must be hours or perhaps days. I'm not sure. I just sit there, numb to everything outside of me, just shattering into pieces over and over again as waves of horror and pain and despair wash over me continually.

I've no idea how I'm going to continue to live.

I have to though.

It's the only way to move on from this, to make the pain even a little better. I can find my family. Give up my heart to Neal. Just make it out of here so that they won't win. So that what they've done to me won't be their triumph. I can't let them have that.

Finally I look up grimly around the room, hoping to hopefully glare at the door until they come and I get the hell out of here. But as I continue to glare at it, I realize something. It looks off. I can't put my finger on it for some time, but it looks wrong.

And then it finally hits me.

It's unlocked.

In their victory, they must have gotten cocky and left the door unlocked.

I am getting the hell out of here right now.

I swing my legs to check that-yes- they're still bandages and not tied up to anything. Then I begin to struggle with the ropes binding my hands. I first I try pulling at them and twisting them to break the cord. The whole process leaves my wrists raw and bloody, I think. I can't really see them since they're behind me. And oh, God, it hurts so much to twist one of my wrists. It hangs limp and broken in an odd position. It's ineffective and useless when it comes to twisting the ropes. There's no way it will be able to break out of them. And then I have a mad thought. I can just twist my broken hand out of the ropes if I maneuver it correctly. The joints aren't connected at all. I can simply just slip it out with the right movements. And that's exactly what I do. Of course, it's easier said than done and takes a great deal more time and pain, that I wasn't even aware I could go through, but I eventually break my hand out of the rope and I'm free. I flail my arms happily around before undoing the rest of the ropes. I immediately hop out of the chair.

And then shortly thereafter release how painful it is to stand up and how much any energy it requires. I only realize this because I promptly fall to my hands and knees and vomit. Once I'm down, vomiting however, I try and stand up again but fall back onto my hands and knees. Thankfully, this time I don't throw up. I suppose I'm crawling out of here.

And that's what I do. I crawl on my hands and knees like a child towards the door. It's slow going, seeing as I can only put a little bit of weight on one arm that's only slightly broken as opposed to the one, that although it thankful got me out, is completely useless and limp. Not to mention the fact that my legs are still in excruciating pain and scream every time I move them. All my other various injuries beg me to stop but I keep pushing. And then what seems like hours later, I finally reach the door and push it open and tumble into a damp hallway. I lie there, on the cool floor for a few moments, revelling in my freedom, before getting up onto my knees slowly and leaning against the wall for support, I stand myself up. I don't collapse this time. I look around wildly for any sort of exit and to my left, a few paces down the hall, I see a doorway bursting with daylight.

That's my way out.

I slowly and painfully limp against the wall and make my way towards the light. It takes eons and I nearly pass out from exhaustion and pain every few steps but I make it eventually. I turn the corner and find myself faced with a flight of steep stairs leading up to what I believe is an open cellar door. I can feel the sun shining down on my face and hear the birds singing and the wind rustling through the trees. God, seeing the outside world again makes me forget about my broken soul and heart and everything seems good.

I shake myself and get back to the task at hand. There's no way I'm walking up those stairs. I drop down onto my hands and knees and haul myself up the steps, slowly, one at a time, agonizingly. I'm sure that I scream and cry every step of the way. I try and muffle the sounds. I'm not going to get this far and get caught because I can't keep quiet.

I keep my eyes trained solely on the blue sky above and I finally, at last make it up the stairs and break into the world. It's colder than I thought it was and the wind cuts through me but oh, God, is it good. I collapse in the grass for a few moments, letting myself soak in all the wonders of the outside world. I breath in the smell of the grass and listen to the beautiful sounds of the world until I realize with a sudden start that the sound of the world happens to be hoofbeats and then a sudden halt and then a distance voice calling out 'Wendy!'.

Fuck. I've been caught.

I heave myself up long enough to resist the figure running at me at full force, clad in black with a hood over it's head so I can't even make out who the hell it is. As the figure draws close enough, I fling myself at it and begin to try and hit it before it hits me.

I thrash about so much, my eyes closed, teeth gritted and hands balled into fists I hardly realize that the figure's hands are holding mine tightly and there's laughter coming from it and I finally open my eyes to see who I've jumped on top of.

There beneath me, holding my hands tightly, laughing with tears of what must be joy streaming down his face is Peter Pan.


	40. Escape

Peter Pan.

He looks like a dream. He looks like a beautiful, beautiful dream that I've only been able to remember the last little blissful bit of until now. He has deep bruised circles under his eyes and scratchy, scruffy beard, but those piercing blue eyes and the firm set of his mouth are exactly the same. And just like a dream, his sudden, unexplainable appearance makes no sense to me. I have no explanation for how he got here or why but it's bliss just to look at his face. I wrack my brain for a full minute as I stare down at him, completely bewildered and at a total loss of words, trying to figure out how he came to materialize before me. I do not have the mental processing power or the awareness or even the basic ability to infer how or why or what he is even doing here. I don't have any ability to formulate a question or a statement or anything to be able to even ask how or why he's here or to tell him how I feel seeing him here.

My mind feel's like it's a train that's been running at a hundred miles an hour that's been immediately ground to a halt without warning. It feels like I have the brakes on but I'm still running so fast I can barely comprehend it. My mind feels light and dizzy but it also feels like a ton of bricks, as if I can't hold it up anymore. I'm acutely aware that the entire rest of my body is screaming in pain right now but I don't have the awareness or ability to be able to attend to any of it now, to somehow calm the screaming, demanding agony every part of me is in. But all of this falls my the wayside, because all that I can focus on is that fact that I've been shattered into a million pieces, been broken beyond recognition, ripped apart piece by piece after having my greatest hope snatched away from me.

I feel like I'm completely aware of it all and at the same moment, completely unable to comprehend even one piece of it. I don't think I can process one new bit of information or feeling or word. There is nothing I can take in at this moment, there's nothing that I'm capable of. I'm completely out of energy. I feel like I can't go on beyond this moment. I feel so frozen in place by all the pain and the agony and the grief. I don't know how I'm going to be able to make it through this single moment.

I don't know if he can read my thoughts or if I'm mumbling things out loud or if he just doesn't need me to tell him what I'm thinking to know my thoughts, but Peter looks up at me with understanding in his eyes and tells me, softly, with so much confidence in his voice, "You can get through this." He reaches up softly, tenderly, and cups my cheek.

I flinch away, jolted by a reminder that matter how comforting his touch and presence is, or how much I want to grasp on tightly to him and his calm confidence in the belief that I'll make it through, I know that I can't fully trust him, that I'm the only one I can depend on to get myself away from here and hopefully somewhere where the pain isn't so completely overwhelming.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, a sane, rational, fully thinking part of me tries to remind the pain-wracked, beaten and bruised part of me that after all that the Lost Boys and Peter have said, it seems quite plausible that Peter does not in fact have an ulterior motive in helping me and that I can actually trust him completely. But unfortunately for the both of us, all I'm aware of is a blurry recall of the event leading to my capture: tears and truths and ultimately, the most demanding feeling of anger and betrayal and deep, deep hurt. Those are the only emotions I can identify with, that I can understand at this point in my short, miserable life. I only understand that I was hurt by him. I can't process that I have two different warring ideas of who he is to me: one casting him as my trusted friend and rock and one as an eternal, untrustworthy, underhanded enemy. Hundreds of years of memories and feelings all come crashing down around me and I can't tell which memory is of my friend and which is of my enemy. I remember late night screaming matches, a passionate kiss that tastes like soot and joy, a knife slammed point down into a table, a warm hug on a cold night amidst all my demons. All of them get muddled up into one completely confusing mess that I can not being to even fathom.

There is no possible way that I am ever going to be able to find the right words, or any words for that matter, to begin to be able to articulate to him how I can't seem to understand his relationship to me or whether I should trust him or most importantly, what happened to me and why I am so goddamn broken. I have no words for him. I can not begin to try to make him understand any of the half formed thoughts that are ricocheting through my mind and this point.

So instead of working through these thoughts to try and find help him understand enough of what I'm thinking to be able to hopefully help me, I violently push myself off of Peter and try and make a break for it, ripping myself away from the warm and comfort of his body against mine. All I know is that I can only trust myself. I just need to put as much distance as possible between this place and myself and hopefully, the melee of pain and agony and confusion and heartbreak will subside long enough for me to understand what the hell is going on or even formulae a plan to continue to go on.

I'm up and moving quicker than I thought I would have been able to. I must have caught him by surprise because I take several long bounds away from him, ignoring the stinging pain in my legs or the agony of the jagged broken bones in my arms grinding against each other with every movement, before he's even up off the ground. I take even more steps before he's even caught up to me and tries to grab me by my severely injured arm, obviously without realizing how broken it is.

I screech in pain and he immediately drops it. I continue to wail as I halt my effort to get the hell away from this place to cradle my broken arm and try to stop the waves of pain rolling through me that threaten to sweep away my consciousness. I try and hold it firmly against my chest, trying to quell the agony.

Peter's there, closer to me, almost immediately, trying to get me to show him my arm. I belatedly realize that the incessant noise I hear is both me sobbing over the pain in my arm and his waves upon waves of apologies, trying to explain how he was unaware of it being broken and how he would never, ever try to hurt me and how sorry he is for this, for all of this.

I distantly hear a shrieking voice, yelling at him to get away from me, to leave me be for once, which I eventually realize is actually me. I'm in too much pain to be impressed with myself that I'm forming whole sentences. It must be taking all of my brain power to put 'get' and 'the' and 'hell' and 'away' and 'from' and 'me', all together in the correct order.

However, despite my best efforts to convince him to leave, to remind him that I don't trust him at all, to tell him that he's already caused me enough pain, Peter remains in front of me, hands carefully examining me for all the various injuries I've gained in the past little while. I try with all of my might, to shake him off, to twist out of his touch. I try multiple times to make a break for it, finally identifying his horse and figuring that the horse would most definitely be the best way out of here. I wrench myself away from him multiple times and he keeps catching up to me and we repeat the same series of events: the examining, the screaming and the attempted escapes. After a few tries I figure that this is not going to work, so instead of struggling when he pulls me closer, I reel my head back and slam into his forehead.

Surprised, he stumbles back, clutching at his forehead. The plan for me, while he was stunned, was to make a break for it to the horse, but I've since realized that going around and smacking my head on other people's heads while having serious head trauma is most definitely not the way to be able to walk in a straight line and remain on my two feet. And that's how I find myself, blinking in the daylight again, thinking to myself how wonderfully soft the ground is when Peter appears over me, and pulls me back up to my feet again.

I struggle and squirm this time, with a renewed sense of urgency to get away from this pain, particularly the throbbing pain that radiates through my whole head and body. I'm angry at myself for pulling this stunt because now I feel even worse than I did before.

To compensate for my newly reenergized struggling, Peter foregoes simply holding me by the shoulders, but slowly guides me down to the ground and has me put my head between my legs. I hear him distantly explaining that I'm hysterical and hyperventilating and need to focus on my breathing or else I'll pass out. Even though the last thing I want to do is comply with him right now, the idea of passing out would seriously put a halt in my plan to get the hell away from here. I suck in deep breaths and after the first few rounds become slightly less hysterical and aware of what's going on. I even make out the last part of what Peter's trying to explain to me.

"-keep taking those deep breaths. Just in and out, slowly, and calmly," I hear him say in front of me. I look up from the ground quickly to find him kneeling on the grass before me, looking at me with nothing but concern and worry in his face.

"Did they get the star?" he asks slowly, once I've given up on the hysterics. I nod. "Okay, do you know where it is?" A shake of the head. No. "Alright. I can come back for it later. We need to get you out of here first." I don't even protest. I've calmed down enough to realize there's no way I'm getting out of here without help. Not enough to decide if I can trust Peter enough to help me, just enough to know I have to accept that's he's the only option.

I let him help me up, slowly, carefully not to jostle my arm. I accept his hand when he offers it and then his hand when I stumble along the way to get to the horse. He pauses before letting me clamber up onto the horse and away from here.

"Did they do anything else to you? That I should know about?" he asks, looking at me with serious eyes without any hint of mischief or mirth. He's lost all his playful, boyish charm. "Anything else?"

I blink at him. There's something that I've luckily pushed out of my mind for this moment, that I've been able to smother down so that I can keep functioning properly up until this point. And then it hits me like a ton of bricks and the tremor-like sobs and the wailing and the struggling against Peter is al back as I dissolve into hysterics once more.

The bitterseed.

I'm barren.

I crumple almost instantly, trying to close in on myself. Peter is quick to catch me, pressing me into himself, holding me closely and tightly as I ball my hands into his shirt and weep bitterly and loudly. It's too much for me to struggle against him this time. The pain comes back in waves as I remember the worst thing that the Lost Boys did to me, how they finally broke me. I feel as if it might break me all over again, smash the bits and pieces of me into fine dust that will blow away in the wind. I feel like I'm so hollow and empty, with nothing left inside of me.

I try and choke out what I'm so upset over, what's tearing me apart but I'm not sure if I've been able to form a sentence. I can't tell if I've sobbed out the entire ordeal to Peter or if I'm simply just wailing about some key words. But what I do know is that Peter just holds onto me as tightly as he can, careful not to jostle my arm and lets me soak his shirt with tears. He rubs soothing circles in my back and doesn't press me for questions or try to move me too quickly. He just lets me be broken for a little while, simply trying to tell me that he's here and that he's going to try to help. Those few, quiet, sincere words don't inspire hope or optimism in the situation, that don't even convince me that I should be trusting him at this point. What they do is ease the pain even for just a little bit. His comfort and reassurance, and ultimately, his love for me makes the pain just a tiny, little, minuscule bit better.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, after the sobs have turned to tears and tears into numbness, Peter asks if I'm ready to stand and get on the horse. I nod stiffly and he helps me up again and then lifts me up, easing me up onto the horse. He swings himself up onto the horse after me. He wraps his long, thick cape around me and I ease back into him. I'm suddenly reminded of all those months ago, when I found Peter… or when he found me or whatever, I'm not sure anymore. But I do recall a similar scene, being carried of by Peter, wrapped tightly in his cloak, and being warm against him and hearing his heartbeat, discovering that he has a heart. I try and focus and eventually can make out the steady thud of his heart. Just the same as always. A comforting beat that lets me slowly give into the searing pain and I let myself slip into blackness.

I wake up a little while later when my arm is jostled the wrong way. I think that I scream out but what actually comes out is just a half-groan of pain. Without even needing to open my eyes, I know that Peter's taken me down off the horse and is carrying me somewhere. I open my eyes and look around to find that he's brought me to a stately home. It's dark now and all I can make out and appreciate is how the light from inside the house looks golden and warm and perfect. It makes my heart ache a little bit less to know that I'll soon be inside the warm light.

I look up towards Peter. I can't make out many details in the dimness but I can see the hard set of his jaw, how rigid his shoulders and neck are. I see the scratchy trail of stubble on his face and the grave set of his mouth. He looks paler than usual. He looks strained and stressed. He looks as if he hasn't slept a wink for a long, long time. He looks like he's been pushed past his breaking point and then even further beyond that. The only time that I can remember him ever looking remotely like this was after Gavin died, those eons ago.

Without even realizing it, I reach up with my good arm and tenderly touch his cheek, hoping to calm him. I'm surprised to find it's wet and cold. I absently begin to brush the tears away, not even minding how much it hurts to move.

Peter immediately jolts, tensing up and gripping me tighter, stopping right in his tracks. He looks down at me immediately. The look on his face is half-way between elation and complete terror. He looks down at me as if I'm someone come back from the dead. Perhaps I am. I feel like I've been killed and buried, only to be pulled out of my grave.

I trail my fingers along his face, wiping off tears and relishing in how this one thing doesn't bring me searing pain. I feel as if I'm half way between being asleep and awake, where nothing makes much sense to me, and I just appreciate and wonder at what's in front of me. I ignore the screaming pain of my body or the demanding screech of my mind, trying to remind me of my ruined relationship with him, or the thumping of my heart, reminding me it's broken. For right now, being close and held by Peter is just a comfort, plain and simple.

He just stares down at me in wonderment, not saying a simple word. He closes his eyes tight and I see his lip quiver. Somewhere in the back of my mind, it registers that he must have been looking for me, worried sick for my safety the entire time. It must be both a relief and a terror, having me back. I've been destroyed, but at least I'm back.

"Is she awake?"

The voice breaks the tender moment and Peter's eyes snap open. His head turns towards the voice. He swallows and nods.

"Bring her in quickly." The voice sounds like a long forgotten dream, somehow familiar but still foreign to me. I can't quite place how I know it and yet don't all at the same time.

Peter resumes stalking towards the house with warm lights and we quickly enter in. The warm smell of bread hits me and I almost throw up thinking about how hungry I am. I haven't thought about food or water in what seems like an eternity, I've been so caught up with the more demanding injuries.

A warm, brown face hovers over me and it seems to blur and swirl and I can't quite make out any distinct features. When the same familiar and foreign voice booms closer to me this time, I deduce that this must be the owner of the voice. He starts asking questions about my condition and doesn't even lower his voice when I wince at how the volume of it hurts my head. The words start making less and less sense to me as Peter and the voice begin to talk quickly and seriously about what I can only assume is me. The questions seem to jolt Peter back into reality. The urgency and the volume of his voice begin to pick up with every new question posed. I can't understand what he's saying now but I can understand the terror and fear in his voice as it begins to creep up from a conversational volume to shouting. The other voice tries to use a calming tone to try and deescalate Peter but as I could tell him, once Peter's lost his cool, it's gone for good. You never really want to lose calm Peter, because agitated Peter is completely uncontrollable.

Eventually, Peter begins to move again and me along with him. I feel us quickly go up what must be a flight of stairs and then after a few quick turns, I feel myself being severed from Peter and being placed into a warm soft bed. I almost cry out when I feel the mattress give way underneath me. God, I don't think I've ever felt anything this good.

The voices continue to bicker back and forth, but they've completely lost my attention. All I can focus on is how good this mattress feels and how warm this bed and room are and before I know it I'm no longer losing consciousness for once, but am falling into a deep, deep, warm sleep.


	41. Waking Up

The first time I wake up is only for a little while. Not long enough to really assess what's going on or where I am even or to think properly about anything. I simply just jerk awake, not gracefully slipping into wakefulness. My body goes rigid and my muscles are taut with anxiety and anticipation over the next torture that the Lost Boys have planned for me, but to my complete relief, I'm not being held by them anymore. I almost cry when I realize I'm in a soft, warm bed and not bound roughly to that chair. I twist my hands into the soft, white sheets, steadying my breath and rejoicing over the fact that I'm anywhere but that godforsaken place. I'm not even awake enough to think about all the pain I'm in or that I feel desperately cold and shaky. I don't think about how the pain still rocks through my body even though I'm lying in a soft, safe place.

I quickly scan the room. I can't make out many of the details. The room is cast in a deep blue with only the twinkle of the moonlight streaming through the cracks between the curtains. I can make out the shapes of a large wardrobe, a chest of drawers, a bookshelf. It's a modest room.

I continue to scan the room and startle myself when I find a figure, slumped in a chair directly across from my bed. I'm about to scream before I realize that the slumped over figure is Peter. His head is bent at what must be an uncomfortable angle, but he looks like he's in a deep, unbreakable sleep. I watch the steady rise and fall of his chest. His face is calm and serene for once. I absently recall many nights, mirroring this one, where I spent large portions of my time lying in bed, convincing myself, forcing myself not to comfort him from his nightmares. Now, he looks completely at peace. His face is open and peaceful. He doesn't look nearly as haggard as before.

I feel the sudden urge to give him a pillow or something to accommodate for the uncomfortable sleeping position, but this looks like the first decent sleep he's had in a while. I'd hate to wake him up. Perhaps I could just get up and give him a pillow. I try to lift my arm to grab a pillow but I use my broken one without thinking and bite out a whimper. I pray that I didn't wake Peter up but he's instantly standing by the side of my bed, looking down at me, his face open with concern.

"What do you think you're doing?" His words indicate disappointment, but his tone is that of relief.

I'm at a loss for words. I'm not awake enough to string together words to form a coherent sentence. I simply motion between him and the pillow. He seems to understand what I was trying to do and gives me a small smile.

"I'm fine sleeping in the chair," he tells me. He returns my disapproving look with a dry smile. "You've been through hell and your first thought upon waking up is that I need to be more comfortable?" I give him another disapproving look. He seems to suddenly sober, as if remembering a sour memory or a past regret. He frowns. "I don't have to sleep here. I can go." I shake my head. I'm not sure of much of anything right now. All I know is that I feel infinitely hollow and broken inside and that him being close makes me feel a little less hollow and broken.

Peter gives me a sad smile, like he's gotten something that he's always wanted but at too high a price. He reaches over me, grabbing the pillow I was reaching for and begins to turn back to the chair.

I find my voice and croak, "No. Here."

I can see him visibly tense before he turns around, the pillow bunched up tightly in his fists. "Are you sure?" A nod. "You promise?" I can't promise that I'll want him beside me in bed when I wake up again. Or whether I'll throw him out. Or scream at him. Or that when I wake up I may blame him for the emptiness and despair I feel inside. Or even how I feel altogether hollow and empty and miserable and beaten. Or most of all, that he makes all that I feel a little less unbearable. I don't know how to tell him any of this. He's a comfort. At this point that's all he needs to know as he slowly crawls under the covers. He leaves an arm's length of space between us. But I don't mind. I know he's near me and that's all I need to drift off to sleep once again.

The next time I wake up, my bed is empty but the room is filled with daylight. The brown, blurry face that I distinctly remember from when Peter brought me here (wherever here is) has now materialized beside me. The face is no longer blurry, but is a real face attached to a body. He leans over me, carefully assessing my broken arm, which to my great surprise isn't in a cast. In fact, it's only wrapped in supportive bandages.

He looks up away from my arm and smiles at me, calmly, knowingly. The way his lips curve into that smile and the way his eyes glitter is so painfully familiar but I can't think of where I know this man with a familiar, yet foreign voice from. He looks to be somewhere in his fifties with salt and pepper hair and has crinkles around his eyes and mouth. It's obvious he's spent a lot of his time laughing and smiling. This man has led a happy life, from what I can tell.

"Good morning, sleepy head. Nice to see you're finally joining the living," he tells me with mirth in his voice.

I don't know if it's because this is the first time in a while that I've been conscious and thinking at the same time, but with a jolt I suddenly realize that I'm lying in a bed with a stranger tending to me, in an unknown place with no Peter in sight. This has got to be a dangerous situation.

There's no way that I broke out of the Lost Boy's to simply crash into another dangerous place.

I'm getting the hell out of here.

And that's my exact thought process when I try to sit completely upright in bed, bolting up from my position lying down and promptly throw up instead of dashing out the door.

Rather impressive, I think.

The man with the familiar smile seems to think otherwise as he guides me towards a trash can before I vomit all over the nice wooden floor and the lovely wool rug on top of it. I retch into the can for what seems like eons all the while with the man holding my hair back, trying to ask me why in the hell I attempted to sit up so fast. If only he knew I was actually trying to escape, he'd be even less impressed with me.

Suddenly, I hear the door slam open from somewhere off to my left. My head sings with pain at the loud, obnoxious bang and I nearly pass out right there, with my head in a trash can, still mid-vomit. I distantly hear another more familiar, more identifiable voice, calling out my name, completely elated.

"Wendy! You're awake!" Peter shouts at me, obviously overjoyed, and obviously unaware that any sound over a hushed voice makes my head feel like it's splitting open.

"Peter, out," the older man commands. I cough out a laugh at the man who thinks Peter will listen to anyone. That is not going to happen. "I already kicked you out of here once, don't make me do it again." Perhaps, I'm wrong then.

"But she's up!" Peter tries to argue back.

"She's not up, she's just awake. She just sat bolt upright in bed."

Peter pauses and I can practically see him in my mind's eye, with his mouth in determined straight line, and his eyebrows furrowed together, pensively. "She was trying to escape."

Now that's what I call impressive.

"She needs me to reassure her she's safe. She trusts me." I hear him move around the man quickly. "Here," he says pulling me up. But as he pulls me up, a thought crystallizes in my head. How can I trust him when the last time we actually spoke he confessed to me that our entire journey together was a ruse to get me to hand over both the star and my heart so he could get back to Neverland? This could just be another ploy to get me to give him my heart.

I can't trust him.

I shouldn't trust him.

I just need to escape.

So when he finally pulls me up to face him, I reel my head back and whack my forehead against his face and he stumbles backwards, clutching at his bloody nose, wailing. I attempt now to stand up, but at the same time I realize that I don't have nearly enough energy to stand, the man with the familiar smile seems to swoop in, grabbing me by the arms and guiding me, authoritatively back into bed.

"Why the fuck does she do that every time? Why always with the head smacking?" Peter wails in the background.

The man pushes Peter aside and forcefully pulls the blankets over me. I try and fight back against him. I'm not even sure now if I'm right in thinking that this is another ploy orchestrated by Pan. This man seems to be the one in charge and doesn't seem intent on either torturing me or getting my heart. I'm not so sure fighting against him or whacking Peter in the head was the right decision after all. All these thoughts swirl around in my head as I try to fight off the drowsiness that I feel as the man tucks me into bed, while he admonishes Peter over his shoulder, "She may be awake right now, but she is not thinking straight at all. It's all a mix of the concussion and the painkillers and the trauma."

"But last time she-"

"Yes, her reactions to you will vary," the man brushes off absently. "You've got to give her time. It's only been a few days."

The words that I hear all slip and slide into one another as sleep begins to tug at my mind and I stop fighting against it.

"I'm putting all of my trust in you. If she doesn't pull through, I swear to God-"

"Don't threaten me, Pan. That is not going to help you one bit." I hear a deep chuckle. "And besides, it would be pretty counterproductive to kill a person you saved."

What the hell does that mean?

But I have no time to contemplate it as sleep pulls me under.

The third time I wake up, I'm aware of my mind before I'm aware of anything else. I feel it click into place. Even though it feels sluggish and slow, and it hurts to think beyond the present, I know that I've finally gotten some semblance of rational thought back after all this time.

I slowly blink my eyes open and find myself in the same room as before. The late afternoon light streams in from the window and turns the room golden and warm. I just stare at it, appreciating the sun and just how wonderful it is. I take in a deep breath. Now that I can think properly, I'm fairly certain that this place is not one of danger, but of healing. I don't need to nor should I escape from this place.

I turn my head to the side, knowing that to my right I've always found someone, be it that man that Peter saved or Peter himself. I'm not surprised to find the familiar man sitting in a comfortable-looking armchair with a book in his lap. He looks up at me, slowly. I can see him assessing me, deciding if I'm with it enough to try and attempt conversation.

I offer him a small smile and that's what decides him.

He returns the smile with that familiar yet foreign smile, where his eyes crinkle at all the right places, showing off his wonderful laugh lines. His dark eyes sparkle with mirth. He looks so familiar but I just can't seem to place him.

"Now if we're going to have a civilized conversation, you've got to promise not to go around whacking people's heads with your own. It's not polite nor is it good for your concussion," the man tells me, laughter thick in his voice.

"I promise I won't." My voice is raspy but for the first time in what seems like eons, I'm able to form a complete, understandable sentence.

"Good," he says. He closes his book and leaves it on the arm of the chair. He helps me sit up slowly, painfully in bed, propping me up against dozens of pillows. He then sits on the edge of the bed and begins to spoon feed me warm, delicious spoonfuls of simple chicken broth. My stomach grumbles at the first bits of any sustenance I've gotten in what feels like ages. I choke on the first one and nearly vomit once it goes down, but I know it's just the reaction to not having eaten in so long. After the third spoonful, all it is is just wonderful, amazing food.

Soon enough though, I finish and the man puts the bowl away on my bedside table. He then returns to the chair he was sitting in before, and crosses his legs. He gives me a knowing smile and says, "I shouldn't be offended that you haven't recognized me yet. After all it has been nearly half a century and I was so young back then." He gives me a grin in response to my completely befuddled look. "I'm Declan."

My jaw nearly hits the floor. A person Peter saved. Oh my God, it's Declan. Peter saved Declan and now he's somehow ended up before me, playing doctor to all my injuries.

"Oh my God," is all I can say for a few moments before Declan interrupts politely to continue explaining.

"It's rather hilarious, isn't it? How life plays out? All these years and universes and you end up in here, being nursed back to health by the little boy you taught how to suture cuts with a needle and thread and an orange?"

"How… how is this even possible?" I stammer. I feel like I've just awoken in a bizarre dream that I should have dreamt forty years ago.

"Well, Peter told me you know about how he rescued all the boys you developed significant relationships with," he tells me, perhaps he thinks he's refreshing my memory but I remember. "But for me specifically, he brought me back to my family. They had been so poor they couldn't even afford to feed me, so I had run. He set them up with a hefty sum of money, helped us buy a real home and once I was old enough, helped pay to put me through medical school." He pauses and looks off into the middle distance with a small smile on his face. "I'm quite sure that I was an exception to how he treated your special boys. He and you both happened to be especially fond of me, which I'm grateful for. Both of you greatly contributed to the man I am today.

"As for the possibility of you being here, I happened to live only a half day's ride from the mansion you were taken from and a full day's ride from where the Lost Boys kept you. You and Peter lucked out in the contacts Peter has in this area," Declan explains.

I nod. I recall from months ago Peter refusing to tell me how in the hell he was coming up with all this information and money from these mysterious contacts. Thinking about it now, those contacts must have been all the Lost Boys he saved.

I rub at my temples. Being conscious for this long is beginning to give me a headache. A side effect from the concussion I'm sure.

"I just… I never thought I'd ever see you again," I manage to say. "This is so surreal." I sigh. "I mean up until a little while ago, I was so sure you were dead, that Pan killed you. I blamed myself for your death for the better part of the last fifty years."

"Well, if it's any consolation, I've spent the better part of the last fifty years, thanking my lucky stars that you were in my life," Declan offers. "Without you or Pan, I'd have been lost. You two are my heroes."

I scoff. "I would not be so quick as to call either of us that, Declan," I bite out. Ah. I remember, Declan was one of the few-perhaps, the only- Lost Boy that didn't hate Pan. He still looked up to him even after I tried to convince him otherwise. He still sees Pan as a wonderful, wild king, not as a deeply flawed individual. He probably sees me as some sort of motherly, healing figure, also not as a deeply flawed individual.

"Why not?" Declan asks. "You saved all those Lost Boys-"

"I had no idea what Pan was doing back then. I thought every time I loved, every time I showed any kindness I got someone killed. That mentality has nearly killed me. I'm no hero," I tell him. "And neither is Pan." I sigh and rub at my forehead. "Oh, God, Declan, you were so young back then. You were one of the few that I cared for that didn't realize the monster Pan was. Even now, you still idolize him when he's still just a lying, power-hungry monster."

"You don't really mean that, do you?" What he's just said is a question in and of itself, but he says it like a statement: that I don't really mean it. He sounds like a disapproving father, trying to not so subtly tell his child the correct way to go about things. It makes me more than a little angry to be talked to in such a way. Declan was a young child when he was last with Pan and I. He didn't understand our relationship then, because he was a child and because he didn't understand Pan's and my roles on the island. He's grown up with this skewed vision of who we both are in his head. He must think that I'm just being overly judgemental and hard-hearted. He doesn't truly understand the dynamics of Peter's and my relationship.

But however, he does have a point. I don't really truly mean that. I wouldn't let a lying, power-hungry monster lay in my bed, much less be someone who brings me infinite comfort. I'm just saying hateful things because I'm traumatized and confused and still not fully sure about how I feel about Peter after what he told me. I'm not certain about my feelings towards him at this moment in time. I can't begin to articulate how good I feel when he's around and yet how hurt I am by his past actions. I'm having trouble making sense of it all and Declan is just further confusing me. I need more time alone to think and ponder and worry over it. I don't need someone who only saw us as a child saw us telling me about the inner workings of Peter's and my relationship.

I rub at my temples. "This conversation isn't relevant," I tell Declan abruptly, trying to use my most measured voice. I pretend to not see how Declan raises his eyebrows at me, knowingly. I know that this conversation is far from over. "Can you just tell me about what's going on? I don't even know how long it's been since I was kidnapped."

"Fifteen days," Declan tells me. "You were held captive for eleven days. And you've been in and out of consciousness for the last four." Fuck. Two weeks I've been completely incapacitated. We were so close to finishing this nightmare.

"Alright." I take a deep breath. Now that I'm not focusing on Declan pestering me with relationship advice, I've become away of the ever-growing hole I feel inside myself, opening up wide as a cavern, tempting me to fall over the edge into it. I'm beginning now to remember why I feel so desperately miserable, like I've lost a part of my soul. "What about my injuries?"

Declan sighs. "Well, you had two broken arms. Your left was much more damaged than your right. The right was simply your wrist, but in your left arm, it was broken in several places and actually shattered in some. It was quite severe." Well, the severity of the break matched the severity of the pain. "It was honestly a miracle you were using it at all."

"That's what adrenaline will do to you, I suppose," I say flatly.

"You also had a few broken ribs, too," he tells me.

"If I had so many breaks, where are the casts? I mean, look." I lift both my right and left arms. It's painful to move them, but they are most certainly not broken.

"Peter helped with a lot of the more severe injuries that you sustained. He did a few spells in addition to my own medial help. If it wasn't for him, I don't know if you would have pulled through." I nod. I want to act like I'm surprised but I'm not at all. Peter's good with his magic. I know he is. But most importantly, I know he cares and that's what pulled me through.

"What else?"

"Well, by the looks of it, you lost a lot of blood from all of the knife wounds. Peter helped with that, too. That was also one of the main reasons you weren't thinking straight, the loss of blood. On top of that, the some of those wounds had become infected. You had a ridiculously high fever because of it," he tells me. "Surprisingly enough, the burn wounds on your legs have healed beautifully, without much of my help. No infection, nothing. There most likely won't even be any scarring."

I nod slowly. "One of the Lost Boys there was one of my students." I'm not even going think about the irony of that.

"Ah." Declan pauses. "And then, of course, your concussion. It was a major one. You probably wouldn't be able to speak with me right now if not for what Peter did for you. It's not fully healed, but it's a minor one at this point. It'll be bad for the next month or so, but it won't be nearly as bad as the one you originally had."

I take a deep breath. I know what's coming next.

"And finally, the bitterseed." I feel my heart begin to break all over again. "When you told Peter, it was in fragments of sentences and words. He didn't really get much other than bitterseed and that they had given it to you." I can feel the tears begin to well up. I can't look at Declan now. Not when I know what he's about to tell me. "But from what I can tell they gave it to you intravenously." I look down at my hands and nod. "I looked it up and… It is real. I ran a few tests and they did truly give it to you." I close my eyes. I can feel the tears at the very edge, threatening to burst. "I've searched every known medical book. There's no cure for it. No one knows how it works, so they don't know how to reverse it's effects. And so it seems like the effects of it are permanent." I don't even begin to sob. I just let the tears slip silently down my face and into my hands. I'm too broken to scream and try and fight it. "I'm sorry, Wendy." I hear the chair creak and Declan stands up. He comes to my bedside and places a warm hand on my shoulder. "Would you like me to stay?" I shake my head. I know that there's only one person in the universe I need right now.

"Just send for Peter, please," I gasp out.

I hear the retreat of Declan's footsteps and the closing of my door. I hear the familiar hum of Peter's voice outside in the hallway, questioning Declan. Then I hear the door open and close quickly.

I open my eyes through bleary tears. Peter strides over to the bed quickly. The look on his face almost mirrors the amount of heartbreak that I feel. Without a seconds hesitation, he takes me in his arms and hold me tightly. And that's when I break, when I feel safe enough of let go of the calm persona I kept for Declan and just break all over again. I ball my hands into his shirt and cry onto his shoulder. He rubs soothing circles in my back and kisses the top of my head. He simply holds me that way, keeping me altogether as I break over and over again, the waves of pain washing over me. I'm nowhere able to describe the immeasurable pain I feel over this, how I feel like part of my soul has been smashed into a thousand pieces.

Peter right here, right now is the only good thing I'm aware of at this point. Everything about him is comforting. The way he smells, how his arms feel around me, the calming rhythm of his sure hands, the steady beat of his heart, how he rocks me back and forth, the soft murmur of him just saying my name. I don't need him to tell me how he feels for me and how my hurt is his own. I don't need to try and articulate how I feel to him either. We don't need it. I know his heart and he knows mine; it's broken and shattered, but it's still in one piece because of him.

Eventually, the room grows dark and I run out of tears. He carefully helps me to lie back down in bed and tucks the covers around me. This time I don't need to tell him I want him in my bed. He simply just walks over to the other side and gets in. As soon as he gets in, I move as close to him as possible. His hands reach for me as mine reach for him. We hold each other tightly as sleep eventually overtakes us both.

I startle myself awake some time later on. I shiver, trying to mentally shake off the nightmare of children being ripped from my hands, with me, powerless to do anything about it.

Peter shifts next to me, tightening the arm he has around me. His other hand squeezes the hand I have over his stomach. He then looks at me, as I crane my neck up to look at him from where my head lies on his shoulder.

"You alright?" he asks. The actual answer is no, but for right now I'm fine.

I nod. "Just a bad dream."

He tries to rub the sleep out of his eyes. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," I sigh. I don't feel like rehashing the subconscious manifestation of my emotional turmoil about being unable to conceive. The pain I feel over it, for the moment, is a dull ache as opposed to the screaming pain I felt earlier. I'd like to keep it that way for just a little while.

Peter simply nods, his mouth going into it's typical flat line. He looks a little better now. He still has circles under his eyes and that scratchy beard, but he looks like he's actually had some sleep and doesn't look nearly as stressed as before. I'm sure having me back has comforted him, almost as much as it's comforted me.

"I'm sorry, you know, for smacking you in the head when I woke up," I tell him.

I both hear and see the chuckle I knew he would make. It feels so delightfully good to make him laugh. I can't remember the last time I saw it. It's one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen, thinking about it now. I love his smile and his warm laugh. They, along with his hugs and kisses and comfort, make me feel less hollow inside. It also makes me feel good to know that I'm making him feel good as well, chipping off a little bit of the pain he must feel.

"I just don't know why it's always your immediate reaction," he jokes. "You do it all the time and I can't understand why. It must leave you just as dazed as it leaves me." This time when he laughs, I crack a smile, too. "Maybe it's because you're just so headstrong."

It takes me a moment before I realize what an awful pun he's made. God, it is so bad, but it makes me laugh. It makes me actually laugh out loud. It feels so good, to laugh at the simple joke. It feels even better once I realize he's laughing along with me. I'm sure that neither of us has really laughed in a long time, let alone with each other. It makes me almost forget the dismal state of our relationship right now.

After a little while, the laughter subsides, and we're just left in the darkness, lying in bed, holding onto each other. The silence isn't awkward. It's welcome and peaceful. But eventually, a question pops into my mind.

"Do you have your own room or do you just sleep wherever you drop?"

Another chuckle this time, but smaller. "No, I have my own room. I've barely slept in it the past little while, but Declan has given me a room."

"We're lucky he was so close to us," I comment.

"Actually, there was another contact a little closer, but I knew Declan would be much more helpful than the other one," Peter explains.

I pause, thinking. "Are all your contacts the boys you saved? The one that I was close with?"

"Yes," he confirms.

"I didn't know you continued relationships with them, helped them. I'm really proud of you for it," I tell him. I don't need to see his face to know that he's surprised. I don't know what to make of my relationship with him at this point, but I'll never deny the fact that he's blossomed into a good person.

"Declan is definitely the one I've helped the most. Partly because his family needed it more than others and partly because I really did like him on Neverland," he tells me. A pause and I'm almost certain I know what he's about say. "He reminded me of Gavin."

I nod. "Me, too." I sigh, thinking about that small, poor, wonderful little boy we both loved. "The kind eyes, the timidity, the intelligence, that spark of mischief. They both had it."

"But, God, Gavin was so small," Peter remembers. "His hands were so tiny and soft. Picking him up felt like picking up a doll sometimes."

I grin. "But, sometimes, when he would get mad, do you remember? He would ball his hands into fists and he would be completely immovable."

Peter lets out a small laugh. "Yes, he was stubborn, that one."

"And that spark of mischief was different from Declan. Gavin, when he would look at you in the middle of game or conversation and you would know, just by the look in his eye, that he was about to flip you on your head or something. It always took me by surprise." I smile, thinking about the better times.

"It was his intelligence," Peter informs me. I agree, completely. "He was a little genius. Sometimes it was startling."

"Especially when it came to his convictions. He could convince anyone of anything. He would always remain set in his ideas."

"Yes. And the vast majority of the time, he was right and I always conceded," he says. Peter sighs. "He was like you that way."

"How so?"

"Right from the moment I met you, when I caught you falling from the sky, you challenged me," Peter recounts, softly. "How you spoke to me, about me, about everything out there in the world, how you acted, how you interacted, reacted, everything. It challenged how I thought and felt and saw things. You always challenged me to be more, to see past myself, even if you never thought I could, even if you only thought you were just yelling at me. You always humbled me." He sighs and looks down at me. "You kept me human, even when both you and I were convinced there was no part of me that was." He presses his lips together. "I needed that, even if I would never admit it." He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. "It doesn't justify anything, it just explains why."

"Felix said something like that, around the time Gavin died. He said I weakened you, ruined you. The Lost Boys even mentioned that he thought I made you soft," I recall.

I can feel Peter's arm tense around me mentioning both the Lost Boys and Felix. Suddenly, however, he slips his arm out from under me and abruptly turns on his side, facing me. He looks at me, gravely, seriously. "Both Felix and the Lost Boys hurt you because of me," he begins. "It's my fault that they kidnapped you." He pauses and takes a deep breath. "All the pain you've felt in your life is because of me. I'm the root cause for all of the reasons why you or your family has ever been hurt. I took you away from your family, I hurt you all those years on Neverland, I enslaved your brothers, I'm the reason why you ended up in the Enchanted Forest, and I tricked you into teaming up with me so I could get your heart and the star." He looks at me with so much pain in his eyes that I know he's reliving every single thing he's ever done to me. "I'm so, so unbelievably sorry for every single thing I've done to you. I wish everything I've done to you undone and forgotten. I wish you could just meet me now and all I could ever do to you is make you happy. But I can't. So I'm going to spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I'll always protect you and comfort you, love you. No harm will ever come to you again because of me. I will always be here for you, no matter what. It doesn't matter to me if you ever forgive me. I know that our relationship is far from perfect and I'm ever farther, but I'm going to give me all to it and you. All I want to do is try to make it up to you and only bring you joy and love and happiness," he finishes.

I brush a lock of hair off his forehead. "Thank you, Peter. I accept your apology." I rest my hand on his face and he covers it with his.

His eyes close and I can see a hint of a smile on his mouth. "I love you, Wendy. You're the best thing to ever happen to me." He squeezes my hand and looks back at me, his face open and sincere.

"I didn't mean what I said back at the mansion," I admit. "I love you, too."

Peter tenderly reaches out and kisses me lightly on the forehead. He then turns back onto his back, his arms enveloping me again as we both drift back to sleep.


	42. Something To Do

The days go by slowly at first, painfully so. Everything hurts and there's no comfortable position that I can get it where I don't hurt. Both my arms ache when I so much as consider a movement. Light and noise and generally everything else that exists makes my head hurt. My cuts and bruises and burns bite at my body painfully with the wrong movement. It's all underpinned by the crushing thought that I can't have children.

In a word, I'm broken.

In the first little while, I spend a lot of my time either asleep or on the edge of it. My mind is slow at those points and isn't sharp enough to produce enough coherent thoughts to remind me how truly broken and batter I am. All I'm really taking in is that I'm in physical pain and sleep is the only time I can really escape it.

Peter spends most of his time by me, either in bed next to me or pacing the room. I don't have enough time when I'm awake to become as anxious as Peter becomes. I can't tell if he's sleeping and eating more or less. I think he assumed that I'd be much more with it after I woke up for real.

Unfortunately, at this point I'm still drained, and all the energy I can muster is put into making myself sit up, eat and a have a few short conversations with Peter and Declan. That's all I can do.

I think it makes Peter terrified because he thinks I've just devolved into someone who's only surviving. Honestly, at this point in time when all I can make myself do is eat and sleep, I really am just surviving. When I'm with it enough in the middle of the night, after being woken up by nightmares, I try and give some comfort to Peter. A light kiss on the cheek if he's asleep or if he's awake a simple conversation where I try to convince both of us that I'm still some semblance of the Wendy that I was before. I'm not sure if I'm convincing either of us. The conversations I always initiate always carefully tiptoe around our relationship. Neither of us have the emotional control at this point to discuss it. Instead, I opt for discussing small simple things, like food and the weather and other mundane things that neither of us are very interested in at this point. I ache for our long discussions where we both challenged each other.

Eventually, after about a week of eating and sleeping, I finally feel like I have enough energy to sit up in bed and stay awake and focused for a few hours. At first, we both spend the hours in silence, simply taking turns staring at random things around the room before both of us realize we're going to go out of our heads with boredom. Peter falls back into the habit of his endless pacing. He seems to be only full of nervous energy right now. I know it's because he's worried for me. I appreciate it and understand it, I really do. If I were in his shoes, I would definitely feel the same way, but the constant worrying is getting to be a little too much for me. It's a struggle to let him leave me alone for even a few hours. I need that time away from him at this point. I need time to sit and collect my thoughts on my own. It's not easy to work out how I truly feel about someone and how their actions always seem to hurt me when he won't let me out of his sight when I simply want to be left alone for an hour. It adds to my frustration with him. I'm already hurt and frustrated by him, I don't need him pestering me any more. He wants to be involved in every little decision that I make. I want him to let me at least have some sort of control in my life.

Once we both realize that, Peter has the brilliant idea to bring in some books and a stack of cards. We spends hours trading books between us, reading out loud, occasionally stopping to discuss an interesting event, or a break in character development. The stories are a breath of fresh air, something that I can actively think about, and discuss with Peter, bite into with genuine curiosity and interest. It feels good.

He continues to spend every night in my bed, sometimes pulling me close or giving me some space, depending on how close both of us got to admitting the dismal state of our relationship that day. Either way, the space between us doesn't change the fact that I love having him by my side.

Soon, I feel well enough to hobble over to the table and we play some card games. They start out boring because neither of us are really in the mood to play games. We both choose simple games that we don't need to concentrate on and let our minds drift and wander. But after a while, I grow tired of sitting and stewing while pretending not to be and I choose a game that requires thought. We both hook onto the strategies that we should be using and once again I relish in the interest and the fun of playing a game. It's good to go up against Peter in these types of things. I like how intelligent he is and how he makes everything a challenge for me. I find myself spending half my time amazed by his skill and the other half pretend-gloating over being able to amaze him with my skill. We begin to laugh more often, both at jokes we make and how both of us sometimes tend to bend the rules in the games. It starts to lessen the hard feelings I have towards him, remembering how good it is to have him in my life and how much he makes it better. And once we get tired of the card games, Declan supplies us with boardgames and such that can fill our time.

Declan comes in periodically to check up on me and my injuries. Peter's magic pulled me out of the grave, but it didn't speed up how fast things will heal. I'm still a ridiculously long way off from being fully healed. Anxiety and fear boils up in me at this, remembering that I have a brother to save still with no plan. I can't deal with those feelings at the moment, however, so instead I squash them down into the back of my mind and pretend they aren't there until the next time they threaten to burst. I'm sure both Peter and Declan notice how I pretend to not feel overwhelming stress about my brother. It also happens to be the way Peter and I are both dealing with our relationship at the moment. I think they try very hard to take my mind off it. But as much as all three of us try together, the weight of that responsibility is always pressing down on me, no matter whether I pretend it's there or not.

Declan sometimes joins us at the table we've put by the window for games, and in the late afternoon, tea. He's good to have around, often to break the tension between Peter and I as we both strategically avoid talking about our relationship. I like hearing about how Declan grew up and got to travel and learn and fall in love and start a family. It makes my heart full to hear about his wonderful life. The vast majority of the time I even forget to be jealous of how truly amazing his life has been.

He tells us about his family. His wife, Mia, who he met when he was in medical school. She too was also becoming a doctor at that point, only a few years behind him in school. They married and worked together, creating this hospital and house so they wouldn't have to both keep travelling to go see patients. Soon after they had a family of their own: two boys, Peter and Joshua, and a girl, Gwendolyn. Peter, having been around Declan so long, knows this, but I nearly choke on the scone I'm eating when I hear the names.

"Peter and Gwendolyn!" I exclaim.

Declan simply gives me a warm smile and explains that both of us had such a positive impact on his life that he couldn't not give his children our names in hopes that they would do the good we had done.

I see Peter awkwardly look away when Declan goes on about the good both he and I have done, when we know for him specifically, he's done a lot more harm than good.

Declan ignores it and continues to try and calm me about the namesakes. "And besides, she goes by Gwen, not Wendy," he adds.

As much as I'd like to pretend I'm taken aback by it, I'm actually genuinely touched. It makes me feel good to know that make actions have made a positive impact on someone's life. I'm even more touched when Declan comes back a few days later, saying Gwen would like to come for a visit to finally meet her namesake.

I'm delighted when she comes to see me. She's only a couple of years older than me. We both laugh at how her namesake is younger than her. She's warm and easy to talk to and for the first time in a long time I feel like I have a friend. She tells me about her own family, a husband, Michael, and a seven-month-old named Catherine. She visits a couple more time, talking amicably with both Peter and I. She and Peter have an easy friendship also, which makes sense since he has made sporadic appearances her entire life. It nice to laugh with friends.

One of the visits, she brings her baby girl, Catherine. It's only excruciatingly painful when she comes in and shows me her child, something I'll never be able to have. Peter leaves his spot at the table by the window and looms by us, immediately aware that Gwendolyn's plan to hopefully make me feel better about what happened is backfiring gloriously. He is no longer Gwen's friend, but my more than slightly, angry, tense protector. He doesn't tell Gwen to leave or take the baby away, but simply glowers down at the scene. I wish he would just come sit by me in the bed and offer me some sort of comfort instead of getting moody and mean. I can see him physically fight back a string of curses when Gwen asks if I'd like to hold Catherine. I know how much it's going to hurt to have a warm, beautiful being squirming and cooing in my arms and to have to let it go, but the temptation is too great and I accept.

I swallow back all the pain and anguish I feel when Catherine is placed in my arms. She's a beautiful child, with dark, intelligent eyes, curly black hair and golden skin. She's soft and gorgeous, with chubby cheeks and hands that grasp onto my finger tightly. She coos and squirms and turns into my warmth. She's perfect. It's indescribably wonderful to hold this child. It's also indescribably painful at the same time too, but just like the anxiety and fear I have for Baelfire, I push it to the back of my mind and pretend it's not there.

Peter looks on at me, still angry with now both Gwen and I: Gwen for offering and me for accepting. His hands grip the bedpost as he glowers at me as I rock Catherine back and forth. He remains silent and angry as Gwen and I continue to talk about the topic I've completely lost interest in since she handed me Catherine. I do catch him, however briefly, looking at me also with great sorrow in his eyes, but once my eyes find his, he immediately reverts back to his cold, stoney self. Eventually however, the visit comes to an end. With a small piece of my heart breaking, I give up Catherine to Gwen and let her leave with that small bundle of happiness.

I sit silently for a while and watch the door, half-hoping Gwen might come back in with Catherine, or perhaps- a wild thought- a cure to the bitterseed. Instead, Peter steps into my line of vision, his eyes stormy and icy for once, his mouth in a firm line and his jaw squarely set. I don't even need to think about what all those features combined means, and I only half-jump when he barks out, "Why the fuck would you do that, bird?"

I should try to explain to Peter how I feel even more heartbroken now than before because I have seen the woman named after me able to have her own child while I can not. It's like holding up a mirror that distorts me into what I fear the most about myself. It's a sick irony that makes me feel like I'm being swallowed up by my grief.

Instead however, I put all the energy I should be putting into articulating my thoughts into shooting back an angry retort. Ignoring how awful I feel inside by picking a fight with Peter is so not a good idea especially with all the pent up frustration and hurt I feel at him, but I do it anyway because it's easier than admitting that I made the wrong decision about Catherine.

"I don't need to explain why I do anything to you," I bite out.

"When it's senseless, self-destructive behaviour, you most certainly do," Peter grinds out. He stands with his arms folded, leaning against the bedpost, glaring at me. I suddenly realize that this is the first time in a while we've argued like this. It makes me want to stop being angry with him and explain how miserable I feel. But I just can not keep trying to process how I feel. I just want to scream.

"No, I don't. I can do whatever I want and I don't need to report back to you," I tell him through gritted teeth. It feels good to finally say the things I've been thinking at him for the past few weeks. It feels like I'm letting loose a little bit. But the more I tell him, the angrier and tighter I feel. But it's still easier than admitting how hurt I am by what I've just done.

"I can't let you hurt yourself like this," he tells me. His words are kind and caring but his tone is angry. I can tell I'm really frustrating him by not admitting what I've done wrong and dancing around the topic.

"I didn't hurt myself! I'm fine!" I say forcefully. My voice is only a few decibels below shouting.

"That is a bold-faced lie and you know it, Wendy!"

"No, _you_ think you know it. You don't actually know how I feel. You just project how you feel onto me," I explain vehemently. In the back of my mind, I know that that's only half true. Peter's been able know my thoughts for decades. Understanding them only started much more recently. He's only been projecting his anxiety onto me by micromanaging my life.

"I know you, Wendy. And I know that letting that child go was heartbreaking for you. It was plain on your face," he says, shaking a finger at me like a misbehaving child.

"It doesn't even matter if it was heartbreaking-"

"-so you admit it-"

"No. It just doesn't matter. That's all. It doesn't matter because-"

"I don't want to even hear the explanation you've thought up. You shouldn't have done it, end of story. It was senseless and self-destructive and I can't let you hurt yourself like that," he growls out. "I shouldn't have let Gwen come in. I should have stopped her from giving you Catherine-"

"Stop trying to micromanage me! Stop telling me what to do! Goddamnit! Just because you're worried about me and feel guilty doesn't mean you get to control my life!"

"I am not micromanaging you!"

"Yes you are! You're trying to control what I do. I make my own decisions. You're not in charge of my actions."

"No, I'm not but I always have to deal with the collateral damage!"

"Well, if you didn't ruin everything in the first place, there would be no collateral damage!"

I immediately feel bad about what I've just said, even though for the most part it is true. For me being unable to have children, it is only partly true. He simply introduced the idea of getting my heart to the Lost Boys. He's not to blame in this specific instance. But for everything else, it's true. But it's unfair to bring up, to pin it down on him every time I get angry or defensive. It's not a good way to keep going forward in our relationship.

I want to take it back immediately, but Peter doesn't seem to even care about it. His face is completely unamused and he looks rather irritated by what I just said instead of the hurt or anger I was expecting.

"You have to find a new thing to attack me for in arguments. It's getting old. Not to mention, you're just deflecting at this point," he drawls, his voice sounding bored now. "I mean, come on. We are so past the blame game. I've already owned up to it. Now, pick another thing to bitch about while you deflect my valid points. Or even better, you could stop deflecting and have an honest conversation with me." He motions with his hand, giving me the floor.

I rub at my temples.

I'm completely blown away by how mature he is. It's astonishing to think that this is the very same Peter who killed for fun barely two years ago. I can't believe that this man with seemingly infinite patience and love and genuine caring for me is the same one who's been my greatest enemy for the last hundred years. I'm so proud of him. I'm so touched by how he's put up with all this with my best interests at heart.

"I'm sorry, Peter," I say at length.

"For what? For what you said or for being so senseless in the first place?"

"For what I said," I tell him. "I'm not sorry for what I did. Sorry perhaps that I lied to you about how it made me feel or how I purposely picked a fight with you, but not sorry for what I did. It made me happy. If only for a little while."

Peter's face softens and he comes to sit on the bed next to me, taking my hand in his, squeezing it. "I'm happy it made you happy. But you need to think more critically about decisions you make now and how they'll affect you. You're still not out of the woods yet and you've got to take care of yourself, because I can't do all of that for you, as much as I'd like to." He sighs. "I'm also sorry for reacting that way. It was unfair and unnecessary."

"I know it's hard, I guess, to see me like this. I would probably be just as stressed and protective as your are. I can see where you're coming from," I tell him. I let out a deep sigh. I can feel the immeasurable sadness pushing down on me again. "But, oh God, I just needed to do that. It was good to do that. It felt good and right. And even if it hurt a lot, it was worth it. I need to at least try and function with this now." I swallow. I can feel tears spring to my eyes and I try to ignore them. "It's going to be like this for the rest of my life. I need to be able to actually live knowing that…" I wipe away an escaped tear. "That I can't have children." I let the tears fall freely now. "I have to learn how to accept it." I let out a short bark of a laugh. I cover my mouth with my hand and finally let out a sob. "Oh, my God, Peter, I can't accept it. How can I watch the woman who was named after me have children and be a mother when I can't? It's so sick and ironic and I hate it and I can't accept it but there's nothing I can do."

Peter pulls me tightly against him. I ball up my hands in his shirt, curling my fists into the soft fabric. I weep into his neck as he rubs soothing circles in back. I just let all the heartbreak go, over and over again. I relive the moment that they forced that godawful poison on me. The future that kept me going, that kept me hoping for some other solution for saving Neal, because I had a wonderful future to look forward to, is gone. That future is dead and buried. I let my heart break with each and every sob, repeating, "There's nothing I can do." Over and Over and over because it's true. For once, Wendy Darling has met her match. There's nothing out there for me. I can't fight it. There's no miracle solution out there. There's nothing for me to fix this. This is one thing that I can't, even if I tried with all I had in me, fix.

Peter says nothing, just holds me tight. There's nothing he can say at this point. There are no words to comfort me, to tell me everything's going to be okay, that the part of me I treasured most is gone. That future that kept me fighting through everything has crumbled before me.

Eventually, the sobs turn into weeping and then the weeping into little hiccups of tears and eventually, I'm back where I usually am, lying down in bed, feeling numb and tired, with Peter by my side making me feel a little less numb.

Just when I'm on the brink of sleep, I feel Peter turn his head, probably checking if I'm asleep before changing into his night clothes. I want to let him go and get ready for bed, so I don't stir. Instead of him getting up to change I hear him tell me, "There's always something you can do." He kisses me lightly on the cheek before sleep finally pulls me under.


	43. Selfish and Selfless

"It's your turn, Wendy." A pause. "Bird?" Peter touches my hand from across the table and I jolt back into the room with him. I blink in the grey light that manages to get through the clouds from the autumn sun. "A little out of it there, aren't we today?" he comments, looking at me with his eyebrow quirked up. "Where's your mind going when you're looking out that window? I know outside's not much to look at." Outside really isn't. There's just hundreds and hundreds of acres of leafless trees stretching out towards the mountains. A few months ago it would have been exciting to take in the dramatic landscape of the north, but now I've been here so long it's gotten old.

I shrug and play my card. "Neal," I admit, at length. "Michael and John." Peter looks back at me, trying to hide the concern on his face. "It's been eight months, since I last saw them. Almost a year for Neal. I miss them. I feel like I might never see them again."

Peter assures me, "We'll get to Neal in time." Not the brother I meant.

"How sure are you about that?" I question. We've been on this bender for a month and a half now. "And with the way you and Declan talk about it, I feel like we won't be getting out of here for another few weeks," I tell Peter, resting my head on my hand.

He places his cards on the table, forgetting the game. "Well, when do you want to be out of here?"

"Hopefully by the end of this week," I tell him. I don't even need to wonder what's about to come next.

"No way in hell are you getting out of here in the next week. You are nowhere close to being well enough to ride," Peter berates me. Wonderful. The beginning of an argument I've heard pretty much every day this week, either from Declan or Peter. Sometimes if I'm lucky, it's both. I slowly tune out Peter as he begins to list of the multiple reasons why I shouldn't even consider going out to rescue Neal at this point. I love Peter dearly and his input and insights mean the world to me, but I can not keep on living like this. I need to get out of this house and save my brother and just get this over with. I'm tired of languishing here in my own heartbreak. I'm done sitting around all day, playing mindless games and stewing about everything in my life that happens to be painful. I'm done with it all. I need to go out and move and do something. I spent the last hundred years trying to do something. I can keep going even now.

"Wendy, are you even listening to me right now?" Peter looks at me expectantly from across the table. He looks a little like his old self right now, cold and expectant, knowing the exact move I'm about to make. But the look on his face isn't that of excitement, waiting for the next time to taunt me. He's concerned and worried about what I'm about to say.

"Peter, I value your advice and input so much. I depend on you for that and it makes my life better. But as of right now, no, I'm not listening to the tired old speech you've given me every day for the last week," I tell him coolly.

"Fuck, Wendy." Peter runs his hands through his hair. I see his jaw clench. "Refusing to listen is not how you're going to get better."

"I've listened," I tell him. "I'm just not convinced. If you can find another way to convince me, then go for it. I am all ears."

"You are the most frustrating person I've ever met," Peter bites out.

"The feeling is mutual."

Peter rolls his eyes. "Wendy, can you just be serious for one minute?"

"I don't know about you but I've been serious for the last century. I'm not the one who refused to grow up."

"I've changed now," Peter tells me firmly. It was unfair to use that against him, but it's frustrating to be talked down at because of this. I'm tired of being told what I can and can't do. I've never been good with authority. I no longer have the patience or the energy anymore to even try to listen to what people tell me to do. But I listen to Peter nevertheless, because I may not take it, but I depend on his advice.

"Say your point, Peter," I grind out.

"You're not going to be able to help anyone if you show up half-dead on their doorstep," Peter bites out. I can tell by the triumphant look on his face that he thinks he's just won this argument in one fell swoop.

"Not if I'm giving up my heart to them." Checkmate.

However, as I probably should have expected, this counter does not go over very well with Peter.

"Are you fucking kidding me, Wendy?"

"No, I just told you I've been serious for the last century," I tell him with a straight face.

"Fuck, Wendy!" Peter slams his fist down on the table and stands up, abruptly, nearly knocking over our cups of tea. He marches over to my side of the table, grabbing me roughly by the shoulders. He brings his face level to mine and bites out, "You can not think that way!"

"I can think whatever way I want, Peter. I don't listen to you."

"You can't give up your life for some adopted brother who you were only close with for, like, two years before you came to Neverland. He got off that island decades before you even suspected he wasn't even there. He left you behind and now you're going to give up your life for him?"

"He didn't know I was on the island!"

"So when he got back to Earth, it's just weird how he never looked you or your family up?"

"He thought we were dead! Killed by you!"

"Don't spin this back on me. It's a very well-known fact I'm the worst but have you ever stopped to consider that your so-called brother is, in fact, a piece of shit and not worth your time, let alone your life?"

"You'd never understand because you abandoned your own brother to flit around and never grow up and kill people! You don't know what it's like to love someone that much!"

"What the fuck is this then?" Peter motions between us. "You think I've stuck it out this long for a fucking laugh?"

"I don't know! Last time I thought I trusted you, I ended up being nearly killed by your little minions!"

"How can you not trust me? I'm the only one who's looking out for you! Your brothers have only ever let you go traipsing off into God know's where because they're just too wimpy and self-serving to do it themselves!"

"That's untrue! I was the only one who could go both times! And that's besides the point! Are you now telling me that you just think that my whole journey has been useless? Do you even support me helping Neal?"

"I don't give a fuck just as long as you don't pull your favourite little martyr stunt and give up your fucking life for your brother! Each of your brothers have lived a long, good life. You're the only one who hasn't gotten that chance!"

"Well, I don't have that chance anymore now, do I?"

Peter stops mid-breath and lets out a soft, "Oh." He nods. "So this is about not being able to have children?"

"Well, that's one of the factors, yes."

"You can still have children, you don't need to give birth to them."

"No, I don't. But it was part of my identity, who I was. It was my motivation to continue on fighting or whatever you call the last century. I just feel like the universe keeps telling me I can't have what I really desire."

"The universe has never stopped you before."

"Well, I think that a hundred years of messages have finally gotten through."

"You can't give up."

"I can do whatever I damn well please, Peter. And if that means give up my life for my brother then so be it! Nothing is going to change that!"

"Not even me?"

"I- I-"

Peter sees my hesitation and pulls back from me, looking like he's been slapped. "Good to know I mean that much to you."

"That's not how it is, Peter."

"Then how is it, Wendy? How can you just give up on everything and take the easy way out? That is not who you are."

"It is now, Peter. I've been ripped to pieces. I don't think I can have the dreams I always chased after. They were only ever just dreams. At least, I can get this one thing."

"You can have me," Peter pleads. He takes my hand in his and grasps them tightly. "We can find a cure to the bitterseed. We can make a life together."

"No, we're already looking for something that doesn't exist. We don't need to be looking for another."

"Wendy, do not give up on this. We can push through. You can have your dreams. You can be a hero and a doctor and a mother."

"Those aren't guarantees. The only thing that is is that I can save Neal."

"What if they were, though?"

"There's not even a possibility of them being guarantees. It hurts too much to even toy with that idea." I shake my head and let go of Peter's hands. "I don't want to even think about that."

"Wendy," Peter says quietly. "I'm trying to save you. Please."

"Stop it, Peter!" I snap. "I don't want to talk about it, okay? So why don't you just drop it and just let me do what I want for once in your life?" The anguish boils up over and into my mouth and I let out dark, nasty words, only hoping that this will stop Peter's attempts once and for all. "And besides, do you really think a life with me is possible? 'Hello, brothers, this is my life-long enemy and captor. We're very in love and will be adopting. This is fine.' It was never a possibility, so stop trying to convince me that it ever was and just let me be."

Peter coils back from me, deep hurt clear on his face. It pains me to see him like that and it hurts me even more to know I'm the reason he feels this way. "I know you, Wendy. This is not you talking. You would never ever give up like this."

"You underestimated how much I've changed."

"You're completely right."

"Good. One thing we can agree on." I stand up and pretend not to feel light-headed. "Now, let's pack up and head out for Neal."

"Like hell we are. You can sit your ass back down in that seat and wait for me to fix this." Peter begins to turn on his heel and begins to walk towards the door.

"What the hell do you think you're going to be able to do? Villains don't get happy endings."

"If you're tying to alienate me, it won't work!"

"Then why are you walking out of this room?"

Peter doesn't respond, just simply slams the door behind him. I move to follow him but once I try the doorknob, I realize with growing anger and frustration that he's locked it.

"Come back here and unlock this door, you bastard!" I slam my hand back on the door but it just sends shockwaves up my arm and into my head, reminding me that I'm not just mentally and emotionally broken, but physically, too. I crumple against the door, slowly sliding down against it until I'm leaning against it on the floor.

I did not plan on letting it slip that I'm planning on just giving up my heart to Neal. I know it's not the best plan. But it's what I'm supposed to do. It's my responsibility to my family to save Neal.

I've been thinking a lot about that mansion that we visited a few months ago, the one where I had all those hallucinations. I know that they weren't real but I know that they had truth to them. That I've tried and failed all my life to simply save my brother and I can't even do that. It was my only purpose for what seemed like forever. It seems to have been my only purpose ever. I'm pretty sure that I was never destined to have a family and grow up, as much as I spent the last century wishing I had. Maybe that's why I've been cursed and can't have children; I was never meant to be a mother. Maybe all I'm supposed to be is a hero who only saves her family. And it's not like that's what I don't want to do. I want to save my family. I love them with my whole heart and I'd do anything for them, which is why I'm planning on doing this for Neal.

But it's been more difficult to convince myself of all of this when I'm with Peter. It was a bluff when I said that nothing could change my mind about this. Peter and everything that comes a long with him changes my mind. He makes me wish that I was more than just a duty-bound saviour sister. He makes me wish that I could be his, that we could build a life and a future together. He means everything to me. He keeps me grounded and makes me feel whole. He makes me forget about every single painful moment in my life. He makes me feel like I am more than I've convinced myself that I am. He makes me want to keep living for that little shred of hope that we could be happy together. He means the world to me and I love him with my whole heart and soul. It makes me feel like I'm about to break just thinking about how I won't have the chance to spend my life with him.

But as much as I want him, and a life with him, I can't abandon my family. My only real purpose is to my family and that's what I need to do, it's what I need to accomplish. I need to listen to what those hallucinations were saying. I can't be selfish. I can't choose myself over my family. I need to accomplish this one goal. Be a good sister for once, since that's all I ever was.

Suddenly I hear footsteps outside in the hall and then the shuffling and unlocking of the door. I spring up immediately, ready to pounce on Peter and convince him once and for all that this is what I have to do.

The door creaks open.

"The door was locked so I hope everyone's decent in here-" Declan startles as he comes face to face with me and lets out a small yelp. He takes a few confused steps backwards before grabbing hold of himself and shaking his head. "Wendy, what are you doing?" He looks around the room. "Where's Peter?"

Declan. I nearly forgot about him in this entire mess. I'll miss him when I go, but I just need him to let me out now. He'll be much easier to convince than Peter.

"It doesn't matter," I tell Declan. "What does matter is that you step aside and let me go."

"What? Why? What's going on?"

"I've had enough. I'm leaving to find Neal and there's nothing you can do to stop me," I say, straightening up and trying to look like someone who's healthy enough to ride a horse. "I won't take no for an answer."

Declan looks at me solemnly. He nods. "Alright, but before you go let me help you with all your bandages. It's the least I can do."

I've already sucked in my breath to continue convincing him, but I let it all go when I realize he'll let me go. That was much easier than I thought. "I- Alright. Thank you."

Declan guides me to the edge of the bed. He sits me down and begins to tend to my bandages. I'm still trying to figure out why he's suddenly given up after nearly a week of me constantly arguing with him to let me go when he begins to speak, "Now, I know you think I still see you and Pan as my childhood saviours and-"

"Declan," I warn.

Declan ignores me and continues. "You're not entirely wrong in thinking that. What you fail to miss is that I'm probably the only person alive who sees you both as how I saw you as a child and as an adult. That gives me a deep understanding of both of you and how you've changed over the years."

"Declan, I really don't want to hear this."

"You're going to listen to me, Wendy. Not because I'm your doctor or technically older than you, but because I'm your friend who is trying to help you. Just try and humour me. Okay?" I give him a nod, feeling like a misbehaving child. "Now, I know how Pan has changed over the years and it's very obvious how much he has changed, especially in the last couple of months. But you have also changed and I think you need to hear this before you do what I think you're planning on doing.

"You came to Neverland as a devoted, kind and caring sister, with only the goal of saving your brother. You got trapped and imprisoned there and spent a hundred years living in hell. It must have been beyond awful, to have been ripped away from your family and life and kept in that hellish purgatory. It can never be justified or excused or made to sound like less than what it was. But it changed you. You were thrown into this environment with someone who constantly set himself up against you. You had to be more than just a sister. You became a doctor, a voice of morality and good in a godforsaken place, you became a champion of the powerless, a hero. That place forced you to become all the things you are now. You didn't just survive there, you overcame it, regardless of how much pain you went through and how your life was ruined. And now, you've been reunited with the family you spent decades mourning and missing, and again you had the opportunity to be that sister, the older, big sister who comes in to save the day. Your identity got scrunched down to only sister again when you're more than that. If you feel like you have to do this because you failed as a sister once, let me remind you that you never failed. You became so much more and you shouldn't try and convince yourself otherwise.

"Pan sees that in you. He knows that you're more than this, which is why- I'm assuming here- he may or may not have stormed off in a rage when you told him your plans. He knows, just like me, that you can be more than this. He sees you for all the amazing things that you are. You can't let losing a part of yourself or being hurt again stop you from living your life to the fullest and being who you are. That's why you're not just good for him, but he's good for you. You bring out the good in him, but he brings out the best in you, he lets you be who you are meant to be and more. He lets you be the one who gets saved and gets to feel loved. He lets you be a little selfish.

"So I'm going to let you go and will even help you get there, but before you do this, please consider what I've said. That's all I ask," Declan finishes. He looks at me with warm brown eyes and I can't believe that he and that tiny shy little child are the same person.

I smile. "When did you get so wise?"

"There was this girl, forty years ago, who taught me. I just took it from there," he says smiling back. I let out a small laugh and Declan joins me. "So I take it that I convinced you?"

I stop laughing. "No, I'm still going. But if it counts for anything, your speech was very convincing and had some great points." Declan looks at me dismayed. "It doesn't change the fact that I still have a duty to my brother. No matter how much I change, I will always have a duty to my family. I'm sorry, Declan."

He just nods and stands up, offering me his hand. "It's alright. It was a bit of a shot in the dark anyway. Now, let's get you ready to go."

I stand with him and make my way out of the room that I haven't left in a month and a half. He leads me down to the kitchen where he gives me some food and extra medical supplies. He then gives me my cloak and leads me out to the stables where Ash begins to whiny as soon as he sees me. I wrap my arms around his neck and let him drool into my hair, taking comfort in him.

Declan then helps me up onto Ash and sets me off, waving me off as I go off down the road towards Neal, leaving Peter behind.

I wait until I can no longer see Declan or his house before I hop off Ash and throw up on the side of the road. I had to pretend that the ride didn't almost kill me. Even at the slowest pace possibly, each step rips through my entire body and makes it sing with pain. I have no idea how I'm going to make the two day ride to the last mansion. I suppose I'll have to just walk it, once I realize that not only do I not want to get back on the horse, but don't have enough arm strength to get back up on him.

And so I begin the painfully slow walk towards my brother and eventual death. I pretend that I'm not thinking about how it makes me feel like my heart is breaking all over again, knowing that I'm leaving Peter behind. He's going to be furious with me, but at least he won't be heartbroken. I'd rather have him hate me than miss me. I just wish I hadn't said those awful things to him before he left. They were cruel and mean and weren't at all what I wanted to say to him. I would have told him how much I love him, how good he makes me feel, how much better my life is with him in it. I would have-

A twig snaps somewhere off to my left and I startle immediately, causing Ash to startle along with me. It's been a long time since I've been alone on the road and I forgot how vulnerable I felt out here. Every sound scares me.

Another rustle of leaves this time, much closer to me. I whip around wildly, looking for the source. I press into Ash for comfort. I continue to scan the forest for whatever made that sound.

I've got to move. I begin to lead Ash away, hurrying him down the winding road, lined with trees. I try to ignore how the sounds are getting closer, trying to focus instead on just getting away from them.

I see movement to my left and suddenly Peter is before me, glaring at me.

"What the fuck do you think you are doing?" he shouts. His face is filled with rage, his mouth twisted into an angry growl, his eyes flashing with fury. He stands only a few paces in front of me, hands clenched at his sides, his figure looming above me.

I can not recall the last time he was this angry with me. I'm sure it's been years.

"Let me go, Peter. I'm in charge of myself. I've decided to do this," I reason with him. I try and side step around him but he just steps closer to me, towering over me.

"I don't even know where to begin with you," he shouts. "I can't believe you would just leave me behind like that! Do I really mean that little to you?"

"No!"

"Then why would you think to leave me behind? I can not believe you, Wendy."

"I need to do this, Peter!"

"No, you don't! Goddammit! How am I going to convince you that you don't have to do this?"

"Peter, please, just hear me out."

"I've already heard you out. And all I'm hearing is that you feel guilty and like you're supposed to only be alive for your brothers when that's nowhere close to what you are. That is not how you're supposed to be living."

"You can't tell me how I should and shouldn't be living."

"Wendy, don't do this. I know you want-"

"You think I want this? You think I want any of this? Because I don't. I just want to be happy and build a life and be with you-"

"Then why are you fighting it? We can just let Neal deal with the consequences of his actions for once. Or we could kill the fucking Dark One."

"No," I bark. "I am not hurting anyone."

"Just yourself."

I sigh deeply and look down the road towards Neal. I'm already in so much pain at this moment in time I doubt I would notice getting hurt again. "There's no other option. I've lost a part of myself. There's no way to bring it back. But there is a way for Neal."

"So if you could have children, you wouldn't give your heart up for Neal?"

I pause and look at him wildly. I know him well-enough to know he's not just asking this out of curiosity. He looks back at me with a straight face, but I know he knows I'm aware of his strategic question.

I sigh. There's no point in lying. "Yes. I wouldn't say that I wouldn't give up my heart, but it would be a much harder decision to make."

Peter perks up and straightens. "Great. That's all I needed to hear. Follow me." He turns swiftly on his heel and begins to walk straight back into the woods where he came from.

"Wait? What?"

"Just follow me," Peter calls back over his shoulder.

I quickly tie Ash to a tree and jog after him, every bone and muscle in my body screaming at me to stop but I catch up to him quickly.

"So you're not upset with me anymore, just like that?" I ask.

"No, of course I'm still upset with you." Peter looks down at me, glaring at me but it quickly turns into a small grin. "I can't quite remember another time when I've been this mad at you."

"When I burned down your fort, about fifty years ago," I remind him.

Now he actually lets out a small chuckle. "A very close second." He then shakes his head, reminding himself that he's still supposed to be furious with me. "But I am so, so extremely angry with you right now I can't seem to put into words."

"I'm impressed you aren't yelling anymore," I comment.

"I'm using a ridiculous amount of self-control right now," Peter explains. His words are short and sharp.

"But then again, you never used to yell. Especially when I upset you. You always got that awful calm stony face look that I hate, the one you have right now, but you seldom yelled," I recount.

Peter shrugs. "You always used to upset me, but up until a few months ago I didn't care about you. I didn't need to expend energy really to get you to see my points or agree with me or not fucking abandon me." His face breaks up a little into rage again but he takes a quick breath, clenching and unclenching his fists.

"I'm sorry for that. I truly am, Peter," I tell him sincerely. He looks down at me, sadly. "Truly. I love you more than I love myself. I want nothing more than to grow old with you. But I can't fix Neal's situation and mine and the fact that I still haven't forgiven you. And I've got to put Neal ahead of me. Neal is the only one with a clear, attainable solution. It doesn't mean that I don't love your or want to spend my entire life with you. I just have a duty and a responsibility to him. I would do the exact same thing for Michael or John or you."

Peter looks ahead, purposely not looking at me. I can see his jaw clench. He's thinking. Finally he admits, "I would do the same for you, too." He sighs. "But that doesn't mean it would be for the right reasons. You shouldn't give up your life just because you've lost hope in the future."

"I haven't lost hope in the future," I say automatically. Peter looks over at me, unconvinced. "All hope," I correct.

"Do you know how mind-boggling it is to see you, who spent a century on a godforsaken island, wrenched away from your family and all you knew, never stop fighting for once second, now giving up hope, after all this time?" Peter asks. I think he meant for his question to be angry and accusatory, but it just comes out as miserable.

I sigh. "Things are different now."

Peter pushes aside some brambles in his path. "You can't have children."

I wince at the bluntness. "Yes. No. It's not just that."

"There was always a clear ending, a way out that wasn't filled with death and heartache."

"So you're saying you're giving up because things got harder than they usually are?" I look over to Peter, unimpressed. He shakes his head at me. "Don't look at me that way. That's what you just said."

"There was just always an outcome where at the end, I was still whole. That I was still in one piece. That I got to be the mom and the doctor and the sister and the saviour and everything. I didn't have to break into anymore pieces that I'm already in." I sigh. "And now, that option isn't there. The one that is is I can still be the sister and the saviour."

Suddenly we reach a clear, a perfect circle of trees around a small glade with a large boulder in the middle that gleams white even in the grey day.

Before I can comment on the grove, Peter steps in front of me abruptly and I nearly smack into him. "I hope you know that you are already all those things, regardless of what you do now or ever." He puts his fingers under my chin, lifting it up so I meet his eyes. "You're already who you set out to be, who you keep thinking that if you just do this one thing you can be that woman you keep dreaming about. You already are her." He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear and smiles down at me, sadly.

"Well if that's the case, then as Neal's sister and as a hero or whatever, it's my duty to save him.

"Goddamnit, Wendy," Peter almost shouts. He cups my cheeks and looks down at me, intensely. I can see how angry he is, how frustrated he is, how desperate, how sad. "It's not your job to save everyone. You can be a little selfish for once."

Declan's words ring in my ears.

 _He brings out the best in you, he lets you be who you are meant to be and more. He lets you be the one who gets saved and gets to feel loved. He lets you be a little selfish._

"I want to be, Peter. I desperately want to be."

"Then do it! Be selfish! Put yourself before someone else for once. You don't always have to sacrifice for other people. Let other people sacrifice for you."

"What?" I murmur. "I don't-"

Peter abruptly lets go of me and turns and walks towards the boulder. He begins to talk while I try to catch up to what's happening right now. I have a sinking feeling in the bottom of my stomach and knowing Peter, he's probably thought up something dangerous and terrifying.

"Now, I've been hearing about this place for centuries, but I never had the time to go searching for it over the years. And besides, I was never willing to make the trade off until now," Peter says over his shoulder as he waltzes over into the circle.

I follow after him quickly. "Peter, what do you mean?"

He circles the stone, thoughtfully looking down at it. "This is said to be a piece of the boulder that King Arthur pulled his famed Excalibur out of." He finally sits down on it and motions for me to come towards him, grasping my hand tightly. "Little known fact about that boulder, when Arthur pulled out the sword, the magic binding it there released and exploded, which of course made the boulder explode too. It cast out these smaller boulders throughout all the different worlds and universes, each with its own unique magical property. This is said to be one of the pieces of it. This one is said to work like a genie in a bottle. You ask for something, anything and it will give it to you, for a price of course."

I gasp in shock. "We could find a cure for Neal!"

"Mm, no," Peter tells me.

"What the hell, Peter? We have the solution to all our problems right here! Why the hell wouldn't we use it for Neal?"

"Because Neal is not here and I'm not going to give up all my powers just for him."

"What?"

"For you, I will do it of course. I was too selfish to give up all my powers for any one cause before, but now I have it. So I'll be selfless, and you be selfish for a change and we're going to get you a cure for the bitterseed."

"What the hell!" I don't really use it as a question, just as a general exclamation at the completely insane twist that this little jaunt int he woods has taken. I grasp Peter's shoulders and try to shake the nonsense out of him. "If you do this, Peter Pan, so help me God-"

"I've made up my mind," Peter tells me calmly as I continue to yell and curse at him. "Isn't it very frustrating when someone you love is about to give themselves up to something you disagree with?"

"I can't believe you, Pan!" I push against his chest, trying to somehow get him the hell away from this boulder before his gives up all his power for me.

Instead, he completely ignores all my attempts, both physical and verbal, to stop him. Instead he quickly presses his lips to mine and slams his hands down on the rock.

It immediately explodes with blinding white light, sending out waves of power and energy. I'm thrown back only immediately, but I immediately get back up on my feet to continue to stop Peter. I can hear him screaming through the loud booming of power emanating from the rock.

My God, I can not believe this is happening.

My eyes and ears are filled and overpowered with the light and sound and the rumble that emanates through the field. I try and crawl my way over to Peter but I get thrown back every time. My mind and heart races at the implications of what's going, what this means.

And then just as suddenly as it began, it stops. And all that's left is me on my hands and knees a few paces away from Peter. Peter stands hunched over the rock, clenching it tightly with one hand and holding something small in the other. He then turns around and flashes me half a smile, shaking a vial with glowing gold liquid in it before turning white as a sheet and tumbling to the ground.


	44. Humanity

It's the very first time I think Pan may actually die.

He shows up on my doorstep, hunched over and clutching his side. He's covered in grime and blood. His clothes are completely torn, hanging off his body in shreds. There's dirt and leaves in his hair. He looks like he just got dragged through the forest. He leans against the doorway and musters up a classic grin before doubling over and coughing up blood, which he spits onto the ground at my feet.

"That must not be good," he comments weakly, before tumbling forward, head first. The only thing that keeps him from cracking his skull open on the rocky ground is me. I catch him and manage to sling his arm over my shoulder. I grasp him tightly to my side and help him up the steps of the treehouse, one by one, painfully and slowly. We stop several times. The first and third Peter just vomits on the steps from what hopefully is just the sheer exertion of going up the flight of stairs and not something more sinister. The second time he stops to cough up yet more blood. The fourth time he simply just passed out on the stairs for a few minutes. This me to scramble around his body, trying to hold on to him long enough so that he'll wake up and be able to make it up the last few steps. There is no way in hell I can carry him dead weight anywhere.

When we finally make it up the stairs, I practically drag him across the floor of the treehouse, smearing blood and dirt across the floor. I'm eventually able to topple him onto my bed, dropping his torso down first and then hoisting his legs up. He offers no help, but also no restraint.

Next, I make a mad dash for my doctor's bag, which sits at the entrance to the treehouse. I pick it up and bring it back with me, already opening it and searching for what I need before I make it back to the bed. I take my pair of scissors out and cut Peter out of his shirt.

I've spent seventy years in Neverland. I've seen boys die right before my eyes from all sorts of injuries and ailments, from a simple fever that won't quit to the most gruesome of deaths. I was convinced I had seen everything until I lay eyes on Peter's chest.

There are multiple splintered ribs, four that I can see clearly without even having to examine him with my hands, simply because they are protruding out of his chest. Upon further examination, I find three other ribs that are broken. In addition to the horrific state of his ribs, someone has stabbed him multiple times. The stab wounds are jagged and gaping, as if the object itself was crude and blunt.

From just seeing this, I take a step back, running my hands through my hair. This is so completely beyond me. There is no way in hell that Peter, or anyone for that matter, should be able to live through this. It's impossible and it's completely impossible for me to save him. I can't believe that he managed to get from wherever he was to my front door without dying on the way here. The fact that he managed to hold himself upright only a few moments ago is a complete miracle.

"Holy hell," I breathe as I look him up at down, finding more injuries, less life-threatening as the first ones but still painful and dangerous. I stand with my hands in my hair, simply staring at the impossible task before me.

There's no way Pan can survive this. For all his magic and power, there's no way he'll be able to live. He's bleeding out right on my bed from various wounds. He's probably bleeding internally. But most alarmingly, and what will most likely be the cause of his death, is that his broken ribs have definitely punctured both of his lungs and with every breath he takes, they rip his lungs to shreds even more and more.

Shockingly however, I seem Pan turn his head, his eyes fluttering open and he grins at me. He actually grins. "I'll live through this, bird. Don't you doubt me. My powers save me, every single time," he tells me, gasping and groaning at each word. He lets out a small laugh, which obviously causes his broken ribs to puncture his lungs even more which causes him to cough up even more blood onto my nice white sheets.

"Impossible," I whisper. "It's impossible."

Peter closes his eyes, his eyebrows scrunching together in thought before he gasps out, "Just ease the pain. You don't have to save me. I've already saved myself."

I don't waste time telling him that he is definitely wrong. These aren't just life-threatening injuries; they are life-ending injuries. Peter Pan is going to die tonight. His deathbed affirmations will not dissuade me otherwise. There is no way in hell he can pull through this, even if I had all the magnificent words of medicine right at the tip of my fingers. No medicine no power is going to save Pan from this.

"Stitch up the cuts, ice the broken bones. Just make me comfortable," he tells me. He looks up at me through narrow eyes, his voice commanding. I can't believe that he is bleeding out, turning white as a ghost, I'm the only one here to help and he is still trying to push me around.

However, his suggestion is already my plan. I can't save him, as much as I'd like to try. So instead of trying desperately and helplessly to use all of my limited knowledge of medicine, I do what he asks. I stitch up his cutes, after applying pressure to them for what seems like hours on end. I set his ribs, carefully and skillfully. I put ice on them, trying to bring down the swelling. After doing this, and after Peter still not dying, I move onto the less demanding injuries, bandages other cuts and scrapes, setting bones that aren't currently puncturing vital organs, icing bumps and bruises. The hours wane on and he still does not die. In fact, when I go back to check on his ribs, I could swear that one of them has somehow become less protruding, closer to where it should be. After examining the area where he sustained the most stab wounds, and where there should be a great deal of internal bleeding, I find none. Frantically, I inspect his more minor injuries and find that he's almost completely healed of those.

Then as the sun finally rises, the last of his broken protruding ribs descend back down into his ribcage. Of course, when inspecting them I find that they are still quite broken and that the stab wounds are still there, but there's no life-threatening damage anymore. He's healed in a completely inhuman, impossible fashion. It's unthinkable to realize that barely six hours ago, he had pretty much both feet in the grave and now is looking only slightly roughed up, in a state that he tends to get into every other month or so.

I slump back into the armchair by my bed and simply look at him, completely astonished. How did he know? How could this even possible? How did he cheat death? These questions swim in my mind and demand all of my attention, but the more and more i try to explain them the more I lose my grip on wakefulness. I slip into sleep after a little while, sinking deeper and deeper into the chair and into sleep.

What seems like only a second later, I'm jolted awake by Pan's voice. I practically jump out of my seat, finding him lying on his back, looking at me, completely unamused.

"Water," he tells me, simply. I feel like dumping the glass that I keep on the bedside table right on his head, but instead, for some unbeknownst reason to me, I help him lift his head enough to take a few gulps before he lies back down.

Now awake again, both the bright sun streaming into my room and the still-astonishing recovery of Peter before me keep me from going back to sleep.

I simply sit and stare at him in complete amazement. I've known for years how powerful he is, but I never thought that it was to this extent. I never thought he could cheat death. Who would ever dream of having such power? The power to never die? It's completely unthinkable and yet here he lies before me, completely alive.

It angers me to know that he can survive anything. I hate that a person like him has no weakness, to Achilles' heel. I can't believe that this completely evil, unredeemable villain has the power to overcome death, and instead of using that power, that immunity to try and do a little good in the world, he abuses it so he can win fights and kill and maim and rule over this hell.

I hate him for it.

As someone who has seen death firsthand, who has had young boys die right in front of me, their deaths that have been directly caused by Pan's selfish whims, it makes me want to scream. There have been so many innocents killed because of him, and he doesn't even have the ability to know that the same terrifying fate awaits him. He deserves to die and yet, he will keep living.

"You wasted all your energy staying up all night," Pan tells me, breaking me out of my reverie. I look up at him and glare. I should have tossed him out of the treehouse. Why have I been helping him all these years if he was just going to die anyway?

"I've wasted my energy all these years," I bite out. "Why do you even come to me for help if you know you'll always survive?"

Pan rolls his eyes. "Don't get self-righteous about this now. It's very unbecoming."

"Do you not realize how unfair it is that you have this immortality? It goes not only against morality, but against the laws of nature that you can cheat death like this," I tell him vehemently.

Pan ignores my questions. "I'm surprised you're just finding out about this now. I thought you always knew," he comments in a bored voice. It makes me so angry when he responds to my anger with complete indifference.

"I always thought you were like everyone else- no aging, but not immune to death," I explain in a hurry. Then, a thought, "Hold on. So ten years ago, when you killed Declan, and offered the knife to me so I could kill you, you knew you wouldn't die?"

"Of course I knew," Pan scoffs. "I wouldn't ever take that risk on the off-chance you plucked up enough nerve to actually make good on all your threats." He rolls his eyes. "Honestly, bird, I thought you knew. I mean, I always heal much faster than anyone else."

"I thought your magic just sped it up, not that it kept you from dying!"

"Thought you were smarter than that," he sighs before beginning to pick at a loose thread on my comforter.

"Fuck off."

Peter feigns a shocked gasp. "Language, Ms. Darling. I am ashamed to hear those words coming from your pretty little mouth," he teases.

"So all these years, you've come to me for help when you've never actually been in danger? Why would you do that?"

"Just because I will always heal, doesn't mean I'll always heal right," Pan explains. "If my bones don't get set correctly, they'll heal crooked. Or if a cut isn't properly cleaned, I'll get an infection."

I shake my head. "All these years, I have agonized about all the times you could have died and I didn't let you, and here you are saying you can't even die in the first place!"

"Why are you taking such a personal offence to this?"

"Because you've tricked me into helping you all these years-"

"You would have helped regardless."

"No, I'd have let your bones heal wrong and your cuts get infected. I'd have let you rot."

Pan rolls his eyes for the umpteenth time. He looks over at me, completely unconvinced. "You are not a good liar."

I shake my head, admitting the lie. "You take advantage my kindness."

"Because it's a weakness."

"It is not. It keeps me human."

"Humanity itself is a weakness."

"Just because humanity is painful and hard to maintain doesn't mean it's a weakness. It reminds us of what is most important: love and family and kindness."

Pan laughs. "Seventy years you've been here and you still haven't given up on your ridiculous ideals. I'm honestly astonished you still think having humanity is any good."

"It's the only option for me," I tell him firmly.

"The worst option," Peter tells me.

I roll my eyes. "As opposed to what? Living out a violent, hate-filled existence alone forever?"

"Yeah, it's forever. That's the point. No death," Peter explains to me, using short sentences as if I'm some toddler who can't understand the simplest of concepts.

"It's not worth being alive forever if you'll be alone. All the people you love die and you get left behind. Who would want that?" I ask him. I look at him seriously now. I've known Pan forever, faced off with him on every single issue out there but I honestly thought deep down he also felt the same as me, that being alone without love is much, much worse than death.

Pan points to himself, still confused that I haven't grasped this ridiculous concept. "Me. I want that. I have it. I enjoy it very much."

"Everyone hates you. Half of the boys on this island tried to kill you tonight."

"Tried. They didn't succeed because I'm immune to death. So it doesn't really matter if they want to kill me."

"It does because it means that you are alone. There's no one that cares for you," I tell Peter.

"Sometimes I think you forget that I don't care for anyone but myself. You fail to understand that I'm perfectly happy this way," Peter explains. I shake my head. "What you don't believe me?"

"No, I don't," I say. "Because every time something dramatic happens, for a moment you open up enough to me that you aren't entirely satisfied with the life you've built."

"Bullshit. Don't lie."

"You know I am not lying."

"Don't say what I think you're about to say. You will have hell to pay."

"I've been in hell for the past seventy years," I grind out. "And besides, I think you need to hear this." Peter glares at me from my bed. The dangerous anger in his eyes is lessened by the fact that he's lying on a bed of frilly white and lace sheets and also looks like he's just been dragged through hell. His threatening glares are not very threatening right now. "The life you have made for yourself is what caused Gavin's death. You may not have killed him, but because of how you act and how you pretend to have no humanity, it got Gavin killed. And I know you regret that."

Pan immediately sits up in bed, his face marred by rage. "Don't you dare accuse me of that! Gavin was not my fault!"

"I'm not saying he was. All I'm saying is is that how you have built this island, to ignore your humanity, is what resulted in the retaliation of the Lost Boys when you went against the rules that you made because you showed Gavin mercy."

"So you're saying my humanity is what caused Gavin's death? I told you it was a weakness."

"It never would have happened in the first place if it wasn't for your lack of humanity," I shoot back. Peter looks at me furiously, swallowing his words and price because he knows my logic his flawless in the face of his. He clenches his jaw, his mouth drawing into a flatline. This is one argument that I've won. And while I'm making him exceedingly angry today, I might as well put the last nail in the coffin. "And besides, Peter, when you were with Gavin, you showed humanity to him: love, kindness, compassion. And I know it broke your heart- if you have one- when you didn't have that connection anymore, to that human part of you. And I know you miss it from time to time."

"Yeah but then all I have to do is look at you to remind me that I've chosen the better path," Peter tells me vehemently. He folds his arms over his chest, continuing to glare at me. He's beyond furious with me right now, for pointing out his deepest desires and hurts. I know it pains him for me to tell him this. I'll admit too that it makes me feel good to have Pan squirm like this, to have him admit for once, even if he'll never say it, that I'm right.

I shake my head and lean back in my chair. I'm not going to take his bait this time.

"Immortality is very, very lonely. I wouldn't wish it on anyone. Even you."

Peter rolls his eyes but I know that deep down, he believes me.


	45. Human Peter

It feels like all the air has been sucked out of me the second he hits the ground. I feel like everything has been pulled out of me. It feels surreal. Like time has come to a complete stand still, and I'm just crouching the grass, trying to comprehend what the hell just happened. I blink a few times, each time painfully slowly as the universe continues to stand still. Every time when I open my eyes, I expect it to fall right back into place, with Peter standing before me, grinning mischievously at me, instead of lying like a broken rag doll on the ground.

He lies there completely motionless, apparently staying still with the world. His hair against his pale skin is a stark contrast and makes him look almost like a doll, with his limp body and odd porcelain skin. His face, for once, is calm and peaceful, not scrunched up and worried or angry for once in his life. His eyelash brush his cheek, his eyes remaining peacefully shut, not crinkled in stress. His mouth is in a serene line, not flat with anger or pulled back into a sneer. His jaw hangs loosely, for once not clenched. His face is devoid of all of its natural positions and characteristics. It's like Peter's been completely swept away, out of him, and all that's left is this beautiful hollow shell of a man.

I can feel myself sluggishly crawling forward on my hands and knees. It feels like its taken ages and only a second before I reach him. I see cold, shaking hands moving towards him and I belatedly realize they're mine. Without even knowing what I'm really doing I reach forward and place my hands on where his pulse should be. My fingers tenderly, gingerly search for a sign of life, careful not to somehow shatter this fragile shell of a man. Soon, my fingers find the right place, right where his blood should be pumping steadily, regularly. For a few heart-stopping moments, I feel nothing, no imperceptible movement against my fingers and then a quick beat. After registering what it was, everything slams back up to speed and everything seems to start flying by.

It seems like only a second between finding his pulse, slow and weak, and then waiting for what seems like half a moment before seeing the almost imperceptible rise and fall of his chest, feeling his weak breath against my cheek. His breathing comes in shallow bursts. His skin is clammy and cold to the touch. He looks pale, paler than usually, paler than anyone person has any business being. He looks like he's hanging on by a thread.

Somehow, completely unbeknownst to be, I manage to get him up off the ground, slipping the vial of gold into my dress pocket without realizing it. How I somehow was able to get his dead weight up off the ground and have his arms slung around me without me dying from exhaustion is beyond me. There's no other explanation other than the sheer amount of adrenaline and complete terror in me that must have given me some sort of ability to lift Peter up. Some superhuman part of me must have kicked in, being able to lift someone who's so much larger than me, both in mass and height and drag them a solid two kilometres through the my injuries and just purely how much smaller I am than Peter, I shouldn't have been able to do it, but there are so many things in my life that make no sense that there's really no reason how I was able to do it, just that I simply did it.

The next feat that I'm even more so astonished by is that I was able to get Peter up onto Ash. I somehow manage to sling Peter over Ash's stomach, facedown over the saddle. How I managed to lift Peter up onto that horse after dragging him through the forest is completely beyond me. Before this happened, I couldn't even get myself up onto Ash. But soon enough, I find myself in the saddle once more, racing down the road back to Declan's, completely unaware of the great pain it causes me to ride this fast and hard. The single thing in my mind that is clear is that I need to get Peter help. I've no idea what's gone wrong. I've no idea what really even happened. All I know is that he's circling the drain and that there is no way in hell that I could ever, ever even stand the thought of losing him.

Soon enough, I find myself tearing up the road to Declan's property and someone shrieking for helping. Belatedly, I realize that it was me shrieking and calling for help. I see Declan and Mia both run out, looking possible for some banshee screaming bloody murder, only to find me racing down the road at top speed with an unconscious, half-dead, no longer immortal Peter Pan.

They greet me at the fence, Mia catching Ash by the reigns as I jump off the horse and immediately begin to help Declan bring Peter down off of the horse. A young man and woman appear, doctors in training under Declan's care, I believe, appear with a stretcher, putting Peter onto it. They race off towards the house, with Declan and me hot on their heels. We turn corners quickly and swiftly, bounding up a flight of stairs before we burst into a room I only know is Peter's because all of his stuff is dumped in a pile on the floor in the corner of the room.

I hear Declan's voice, distorted and far-off in the distance instructing the two young doctors on what medicines to retrieve and how much to bring back before sending them off running. He immediately rolls up his sleeves and instructs me to do so as we begin preliminary examinations. I can hear both of us going back and forth about what we think is wrong with him and why and how we can fix it. I can hear myself recounting what happened and Declan seeming unsurprised by it. I can hear Declan listing off a number of possibilities about what's going wrong before the young man and woman return with all the medical supplies we need. We begin work on Peter immediately, our hands flying around his body at intense speeds and amazing precision and accuracy. I can't even recall what we did, just that all of it was done in desperation and confusion because we genuinely had no idea what was wrong with Peter.

Eventually, hours later I suppose, we finish up what we're able to do and clean up all our tools, ourselves and eventually Peter. Declan and I then sit by his bed, both speaking quickly and quietly about what our continued plan will be for Peter. I'm not sure what I've said or what Declan's said or even what we've agreed upon. Everything seems to still be going at breakneck speed and nothing seems substantial. We speak late into the night, because the room eventually loses its grey light and grows continually darker and darker until we're sitting in the back room, with the dim light of the moon behind clouds to make out the figure of Peter lying in bed and Declan's profile next to me.

Finally, after we've said and done as much as we can, Declan stands up and squeezes my shoulder. He tells me to get some rest and that he'll be by in the morning, which is apparently only a few hours away, to check on both Peter and me. And with that he exits the room.

When the door clicks shut, time seems to suddenly slam back into its normal pace. It feels like the first time in hours that I can breathe in and our. Nothing seems to be flying past me or inching by slowly. It seems like the world has gone back to spinning as it normally does and I feel betrayed by that fact.

It makes me feel angry and hurt that the world will continue on spinning just how it has normally done when there's been such a pivotal change to my life. A mortal Peter has never been a Peter that I've given much thought to. A mortal Peter is a fragile, breakable Peter, which terrifies me. As much as I may have wished it over the years, I never truly thought Peter would ever die (save for a few months ago when I thought he literally had gone up in smoke). The concept of Peter being in this world one day and then not the next is a concept that seems completely foreign and unthinkable to me. He's always been this unshakeable, unbreakable constant in my life, both as someone I want and didn't want as a constant. He has always been reliable, only in the sense that I've always known that no matter what, he won't die, that any injuries he sustains aren't life-threatening. I worry about him, of course, constantly, but never so much in the capacity that I could lose him, that he could die. It's a terrifying and completely unwanted truth that I now realize sitting next to him on the bed.

He's a mortal man without fearsome powers.

He can die.

I can lose him.

And that's what both angers me and terrifies me the most: that he would give up being unbreakable and immortal to give me back the ability to have children. It touches me deeply, makes me love him even more than I thought possible. But it also makes me furious with him, that he would give up this security so that I would be secure in that I wouldn't go and give up my heart to Neal. I feel like grabbing him by the shoulders right now and shaking some sense into him. How dare he terrify me like this? How dare he become breakable? How dare he be human?

I sigh. As much as I'm angry or scared, I know that being human is not something that Pete didn't want. It was something that was nice for me, because I've never really had to worry all that much about his physical well-being. I mean of course, I worry about him feeling pain, about him getting hurt, but never being affected by the injuries long term. But I know that Peter has always been in need of, and as of recently, in want of humanity, which among other things, includes having physical weakness. It would be unfair of me to be upset with him for wanting to be human, and giving up that inhuman part of himself to help me. I can see his thought process for this decision. It's a win-win outcome for once, him becoming human for me.

Besides, he's been destined to become human because of me the moment he trapped me on that godforsaken island. He said it himself, he wanted at least a part of him back then to be human, even if he didn't realize it up until now. I've always been the link to his humanity and now by helping me, he's finally been able to become human again. He's become a mortal with no unimaginable powers, just a sharp mind and four hundred years of memories. It doesn't make him less extraordinary than he was with his powers; he was amazing without his powers. It just simply makes him breakable which is what makes me incredibly frightened, that this person I love so dearly, and so much, can be hurt or killed just as easily as any other man.

What frightens me even more is that as I look down upon him, sleeping peacefully for once, he is teetering on the very edge of death. I've no idea what the spell he enacted did, but it seems like every single time he's been hurt is catching up to him, chipping away at his body and tearing it apart. There's no one specific cause for his state other than the fact that he is mortal and hurt. He's simply at the edge of one of the most human things ever: dying.

I'm brought back to that mansion, all those months ago, when I thought Peter had died in the fire. I keep reliving those awful moments over and over again: the despair and the heartbreak that seemed so all-consuming in the face of Peter's supposed death. It felt like I couldn't breathe. I thought the whole world was just breaking off into shards as I came to realize what life without Peter would be like. And oh, God, I never wanted to even contemplate those feelings ever again, but here I am once more, feeling those same things as I take his hand in mine, feeling for his pulse.

The only thing that can calm these feelings at least for only a little while is the steady rhythm of his pulse. It's regular and normal now, not slow and shallow like before. The rise and fall of his chest too, is much more regulated. He doesn't look nearly as bad as he did before. He doesn't look like he's about to die right at this moment. That fact is the only thing that keeps me from breaking down into hysterics for the rest of the night. It doesn't stop me, however, from being to cry, softly and steadily as the fear for Peter and a world without him keeps swimming through my mind.

I remain that way, weeping while I hold onto his hand tightly, until the sun comes up and blares into the room. By then the weeping turned to tears and then the tears to numbness. I simply sit there, holding his hand until Declan comes into the room a little while after sunrise. He checks up on Peter, declaring his vitals are good, which I could have already told him. He then admonishes me for not having slept. I shrug him off. I know I'm beyond tired and that I'm still in so much pain, but I can't rest simply because my worry for Peter is so great. I can't let myself slip or else harm might come his way again.

"You won't be able to help him if you're not well yourself," Declan says, sitting in his usual place in the armchair by the bedside, except for this time around it's Peter's room and not my own.

"I can't believe he'd do something so reckless and dangerous," I say shaking my head. I look over to Declan expecting to find some sort of agreement, but instead he simply raises his eyebrow at me, looking unimpressed.

"You mean to tell me you're upset he would do something so reckless and dangerous for someone he loves?" he asks. "Talk about the pot calling the kettle black, Wendy."

"That's different. I wasn't about to die. Baelfire is," I try and convince him but I know it's useless. I know both Peter and Declan feel the same way about my plan for Neal, and if we're being completely honest, after all Peter has said over the past little while, I'm losing the firm ground I once stood on about this. My willingness to go through with the plan is wavering now, in the face of my opportunity with Peter and now with this supposed cure. But my commitment to my family and their lives and happiness above all is what I strive for.

I pull the tiny glass vial out from my pocket, examining the gorgeous gold liquid inside that shimmers and shines as I turn the bottle around in my fingers. The glass is warm to the touch. Looking upon it, I feel the overwhelming desire to open it up and toss the liquid back, but I'm reluctant to do so.

"Is that…?" Declan's voice trails off as he looks at the mesmerizing golden potion I hold in my hands.

I nod. "It is."

"Aren't you going to take it?"

I sigh looking down at the piece of me Peter has returned. I shrug and shake my head. "I don't know yet if I will." I open the draw of the nightstand next to the bed and place it carefully inside. I don't want to tempt myself with it or get caught up in it's possibilities when Peter is still so ill.

We both stare intently at the drawer holding the vial before I turn back to Peter, brushing some hair off his forehead, before saying over my shoulder, "I think he's going to make it."

"I never really doubted that. His injuries were only life-threatening, not life-ending," Declan comments.

I nod in agreement. "I've seen him much worse off over the years." I look down at Peter, lying in bed, hurt, just like all those years ago. It seems like eons since Neverland, even though I was on that island for the vast majority of my life. "I remember when I first learned that he couldn't be killed. He was much worse off than this that night. I was convinced he was going to die from his injuries but to my great surprise, he didn't. And when he explained that his magic allowed him to cheat death, I was furious. I couldn't believe that he was going against the very laws of nature and doing this. I hated him for it, and now it terrifies me that he can't do that anymore."

I turn and look at Declan who stares back at me sadly. "He did this for you, but I think that giving this up, becoming mortal was another step towards getting back his humanity." I nod.

"I know he wants that very much, but a human Peter is a vulnerable Peter and it petrifies me to know he can be killed. For the past forty years, I've seen him as unbeatable and now he isn't," I explain to Declan. "I hate this feeling."

"This is what he must feel like for you all the time. Especially the past little while," Declan says, putting his head on his hand and slumping into the chair a little more, relaxing. "When he first came to me after you had been taken, he was a complete wreck. It took me three hours to calm him down enough to get him to explain what had happened." Declan sighs, looking over at Peter, fast asleep. "The entire time he spent searching for you, he barely ate or slept. I think he bathed once in the eleven days you were gone. And then when he found you, he was only marginally better, but still very, very bad. In all my years knowing Pan, I have never seen him more terrified than when he thought he was going to lose you." He shrugs. "That's what it like to love someone who's human. There's always the possibility that you could lose them."

I look down at Peter, pursing my lips. "A luxury I never knew I had up until now. I took his immortality and immunity for granted." I sigh and turn back to Declan. "It's not like I never worry about him, and hell, a few months ago, he got caught in a fire and I thought he had died. But this is different. It's longterm."

"Now, you must understand how he feels about your plans for Neal. Hell, you must understand now how he feels about you all the time," he says softly, perhaps hoping I don't hear it, hoping I won't be upset if I do. Normally, I'd yell at him for what he's just said, but now, everything is different. I can have my future back, the part of me I cherished the most, and Peter's human, he can be a part of it, even if it will still be difficult.

I nod in agreement. "I'm sure it is," I tell Declan. He nods in agreement and then both of us fall into silence, letting the question we know is both on our minds hang in the air. The question being that if his being human changes things: how I know he feels about my plans for Neal, my opportunity for the future, does it change what I plan to do to save my brother?

I don't know if it changes my plan. But I do know that it changes how I feel about the plan. I know that I don't want to go through with it now, that my wish for another way to save Neal to magically appear is even greater than before. I don't want to leave behind this life I could have with Peter. I want to stay with him for as long as I possibly can, to work towards forgiving him, to continue loving him, to build a life with him. The way Peter makes me feel now makes everything else seem less impossible.

I reach out and grasp Peter's hand, squeezing it, softly. He looks so ridiculously young and peaceful now, fast asleep and healing. His dark hair sticks up haphazardly, framing his face. It's dark colour stands out starkly and beautifully against his pale skin. His mouth for once is not in a hard line but a peaceful pout. He looks relaxed and uninvolved in all the things I'm worrying about. He still looks fragile and a little broken, but at the same time I can see his unwavering strength and resilience. He looks human.

Declan and I spend the rest of the day half in silence and half in soft conversation. He stays by my side the entire time while we both wait for Peter to wake up. Mia comes twice to bring us food, which Declan eats ravenously and which I pick at and then leave. Soon, the room grows dark and we light candles to be able to continue to keep watch over Peter. Then just before midnight Declan gets up and leaves, wishing me a good night.

I blow out the candles he's left and then sit in the dark, just like the night before, holding onto Peter's hand and letting myself be vulnerable and human, weeping out of fear for him and for the future.

Then in the early morning again, Declan comes and we start the whole day over again. This repetition continues on for a few more days. At some points, I feel fidgety and wish that I could leave the room but I can't even entertain the thought of leaving Peter for a moment. I don't want him to wake up without me right by his side. At other points, I feel so desperately tired but I can't let myself rest out of fear that Peter will need me. I begin to feel a weariness deep down in my soul as the days pass and Peter still does not wake up. Every once in a while I feel like shaking him and screaming at him to wake up, but he doesn't.

I begin to miss his presence. As angry as I was with him in the past little while, having him around was always better than being alone. I miss the time we spent together, sometimes bickering, sometimes deep in discussion and other times in silence. It was always better with him. I miss the way he looked at me, and the way he would smile when I would catch his eye. I miss how he would reach across to me and squeeze my hand, reminding me he was there, but now, when I squeeze his, he does not squeeze back.

Declan continues to reassure me that he is going to wake up at some point, that his body is catching up on hundreds of years of trauma and that he'll need time to fully transition into being a human. I understand what he says, but it doesn't make me any less impatient. I only need him to be awake for a moment and to see me, to smile. I just need to be shown that human Peter is real, not just some sort of twisted Sleeping Beauty.

The impatience makes me irritable and so the next few times Declan comes to speak with me, I speak to him with short, rude words. He tries to remind me that I shouldn't be taking out my fear on him as he leaves. After a few moments, I begin to feel bad and call him back apologizing. I didn't mean to be unkind. I'm just scared, I explain to him. Declan pats my hand understandingly, and reminds me Peter should be waking up very shortly, and this time I hold my tongue when I sharp comment threatens to break out of my mouth.

A day or so later, during the afternoon, I sit in the chair Declan usually occupies, with my head resting on my hand, staring at Peter's motionless figure. I've barely slept in five days and the exhaustion is being to catch up to me. My body aches from always sitting up, reminding me that I, too, am also healing and really should be in bed. I stare blankly at Peter's bed, imagining how soft the mattress would feel if I lay down on it, or how warm the blankets would feel around me or how light my head would feel if I were to rest it on one of the pillows. Slowly, I begin to convince myself that perhaps if I just lay down for a few moments, I wold feel nearly as exhausted or be in nearly in as much pain. I would still be right next to Peter and wake up if he stirred.

So I stand up, moving to the other side of the bed, and kick off my shoes before crawling in. I pull back the blankets and sink into to the deliciously warm bed, feeling comforted by the continual warmth of Peter next to me. I sigh. This feels good. It's definitely the best I've felt in days. And so I let sleep pull me under.

It seems like only moments later when I'm woken up by early morning light streaming in through the window of Peter's room. It's not very bright or golden, but it is light and wakes me up slowly, letting me easily slip into wakefulness. I blink a few times as my eyes adjust to the grey light. Looking out the window, I can see miles and miles of grey skies over bare trees, stretching out towards the mountains in the distance. I sigh. In these few still moments I ever get, I miss home. Sometimes I feel like I don't have the energy or the strength to miss it, but once I take a moment to stop and think, I realize it's always there. I miss my my house and the beautiful gardens. I miss my warm room that was always filled with golden sunlight, I miss the soft white sheets and fluffy pillows of my bed. I missed the organized chaos of the kitchen and the relaxing living room. Most of all though, I miss my brothers, each and every one of them. I miss laughing with Michael and arguing about books with John and having late night discussions with Neal. I miss having my family around me. I've been apart from them for a century and I barely had a few months with them before this. At this point, I may not get anymore time with any of them.

But I still have Peter. I'm lucky to have him. I'll never be able to find words to describe how happy it makes me to have Peter in my life. I'm so proud of how far he's come and all he's done for me. Somehow, over the past nine months he's completely transformed into this kind, loving person who I feel completely blessed to have love me. Being with him and having him love me and getting to love him right back makes everything that's caused me pain seem insignificant in the face of how amazing it is to be with him. He fills me up with hope and happiness and love, even if only for a moment. He's my equal and my best friend. He makes me more than reluctant to give up my heart to Neal. He makes me want to start a life with him, to be human and have children and grow old together. He makes me feel like more than I am, helps me to realize that. I'm a better person when I'm with him. I love him.

I feel Peter stir next to me as he shifts his weight. He lets out a small, sleepy grumble before throwing his arm lazily over my waist. I slowly turn over, careful not to jostle him. Once, I've flipped to the other side, I find myself face to face with Peter, who stares at me with clear blue eyes.

We just stay still for a moment, looking at each other in amazement.

"Peter," I breathe finally.

He offers me a small smile. "I can't tell if you're about to yell at me or not," he says weakly. His voice crackles with disuse, but it's just the same as ever.

I let out a soft laugh. "No, not just yet. Maybe when you're not bedridden," I tell him.

He closes his eyes and hums, a small smile tugging at his mouth. "Don't go easy on me just because I'm human now, bird," he jokes. I smile at him, heart bursting, before leaning forward and pressing a soft quick kiss on his mouth.

His eyes flutter open again, eyelashes brushing his cheek. He grins, but the grin seems forced and weak. "So I take it that you like human Peter?"

I offer a small grin back. "I'd like you any way," I tell him.

He quirks an eyebrow at me. "Any way?" he asks teasingly.

I laugh. "I didn't mean it that way," I tell him. Then I grin back and tease, "But any way would be fine for me." I push back a lock of hair that threatens to fall into his eyes. I let my fingers graze over his face, ghosting over his cheekbones and jaw. "But I do like human Peter. I love him."

"Good, because he loves you, too."

I pause. I look at him seriously. "But I wish you would have told me what you were about to do."

Peter looks at me, unimpressed. "Like you told me what you were planning to do? Running off without so much as a goodbye?"

I swallow all the things I was about to say to reprimand him about what he's just done. With all that's been going on I completely forgot that I was my way to give up my heart to Neal when Peter found me.

"I'm sorry, Peter. There's no excuse for it," I apologize sincerely. Peter looks at me from hooded lashes and I can see that he's not angry about what I've done, just broken-hearted. "I should never have done that."

"Were you just planning on dying and not letting me in on it? Just leaving me here?" Peter continues, seeming to ignore my apology. "You were prepared to just leave me here alone? I would have been mortal and alone, without you." His voice hitches and his words are fast and short. I can see the panic and fear and hurt in his eyes. My heart squeezes painfully in my chest to know that I caused all of this. "It's selfish of me to say so, but you're all I have, Wendy. It's not reason enough for you to change or not change your life because of it, but I thought that it was reason enough that you'd at least tell me."

"Peter," I murmur, my heart catching in my throat. I put my hand on his cheek and his comes up to cover mine. "Peter, you are the most important person in my life. You loving me is reason enough for me to rebuild my entire life around you. My life is focused on you and my family, but it's centred just on you."

Tears spring to his eyes and begin to slowly drip out. I wipe them away furiously. "I don't want to be in this world without you. The thought of that terrifies me, now as human more than ever. Being human is frightening enough, but having you makes it less terrifying. It makes everything better. But you were ready to leave me. I don't want to get left behind. Why would you do that?"

"Because I thought that all my life was supposed to be was to be a good sister and save my brothers, but it's not. It's so much more than that. It's more because of who I am as a person, because of who you are, because of who I want to be because of you and most of all, what I want." I take a deep breath. "I've realized that now, with your help." I brush away his tears. "Oh, Peter, I am so sorry that I ever made you feel that way. I didn't mean to hurt you. I shouldn't have done that. I'm so sorry."

I lean forward a place a soft kiss on his forehead. He leans forward into me, still weeping. I wrap my arms around him as his snake around my waist. He buries his face into my neck and beings to sob, bitterly. His body shakes and trembles as I hold him. His tears wet the collar of my shirt. His hands bunch into my skirt. At this point, I'm not entirely sure if he's crying because I've hurt him or because he's human for the first time in four hundred years and he's petrified.

I rub soothing circles into his back as he continues to weep on my shoulder as he clings to me. I whisper small reassurances, that I love him, that I'm sorry, that I'm not going anywhere, that he's not alone, that he's going to be okay. He continues to sob into my shirt for a long while before the sobs slowly turn into weeping and then into soft, soft whimpers and then soon enough, I'm just holding him, trying to reassure him both with my actions and my words that I'm here for him and that he doesn't need to be scared of being alone.

Eventually, he quiets completely and his breath comes in a steady rhythm. I know that he's asleep again, trying to regain the energy that he expended from before. I lie there, holding his as he sleeps soundly. I begin to go over the little while that led up to Peter giving up his immortality. I honestly should have seen it coming. He kept saying that he had to find something to do, and then after a little while, that he needed to do it. I suppose I was too distracted about my plans for Neal that I hadn't noticed that Peter was trying to derail them the entire time. I feel guilty for not having paid enough attention to him. I forgot that he needs me just as much as I need him.

I'm going to be here for him, completely and for as long asI live, from now on. He depends on me to keep him grounded, to make all the hurt and pain that he's suffered through seem less and less significant in the face of how much I love and care for him. I want to be his comfort and his rock, the way that he's been for me. I want him to know how much I love him, that I'll always love him.

Eventually I doze off only to be woken by the door creaking open as Declan comes up with a tray of food for me and Peter. He sees me with Peter lying practically on top of me.

"Did he wake up?" he mouths to me. I nod my head. "Good," he mouths, placing the tray on the table by the window and quickly making his way out of the room again. "Make sure he eats." I nod back.

I brush back Peter's hair and gentle wake him up. At first he doesn't respond and I'm afraid he's gone comatose again but them I feel him stretch his hands that have been under me for a few hours. After another few nudges and gentle whispers, his eyes eventually flutter open and he looks up at.

I smile. "You've got to eat," I tell him. He nods against my chest before letting go of me, so I can move and get the tray. I bring back a bowl of soup and a spoon. I spoon out a mouthful of soup for Peter and offer it to him.

He looks at me disdainfully. "I'm not a baby. I can feed myself," he tells me.

I shake my head. "You've just given up all your powers and immortality. I think you're weaker than you think you are," I try to convince him. He looks at me, unconvinced. "And besides, I seem to recall someone doing this for me after I woke up."

Peter offers up a small smile in return and lets me spoon-feed him the soup. We stay quiet for the little while until Peter's finished his bowl and has even eaten some of mine. It's very good to see that his appetite has not been diminished.

Once we've both eaten, I come and sit beside him, for a moment, not knowing what to say until I blurt, "I am sorry for what I did, Peter."

He nods. "I know and I accept your apology. I forgive you."

I squeeze his hand. "Thank you." I reach out and grab his other, facing him and meeting his eyes. He looks back at me, with his eyebrows quirked up in question. "I also want you to know that I'm never going to leave you again. Not now, not ever. I love you so much, and I want you to know that. I want you to know that I am just as committed to you are you are to me."

Peter lets out a small laugh. "Why would you think I didn't know that?"

"Because of what I did, what I've done, how I've acted. I've been mean oftentimes to you. I brought up the villain thing and I hurt you," I tell him.

"To deny that I wasn't a villain is just as bad as letting me continue to be one," Peter tells me seriously. "I'll never deny the things I've done and the hurt I've caused. It might not be the kindest thing you can do, but it is the truth and it's relevant to our lives still." He lets out a sigh. "I've made peace with that."

"You have?"

"Yes, I realized that I'm never going to be able to move on with my life if I don't forgive myself for what I've done," he tells me seriously. I look down at our joined hands. I don't point out that we're never going to be able to move on with our lives if I can't forgive Peter. Peter tilts my chin up to face him. "Hey," he says softly. "That doesn't mean you. It's okay if you never forgive me. Take your time."

I reach up and rest my hand on his cheek. "How did you get to be so amazing?"

"Someone amazing must have rubbed off on me," he tells me. I grin and he grins right back. "It was Declan." I begin to laugh and Peter joins me. It feels good not to be so serious for a moment and just enjoy each other's company.

Eventually we quiet down and I say, "But back to my first point, I do love you more than anything in this world. And I want you to know that. I want you to know that I'll never leave you and will always be by your side, to support and love you for as long as I live."

Peter smiles. "I love you, too, bird. More than anything in this world or the next and I'll never leave you behind and I'll always stay by you, to support you and love you for as long as I live, which is evidently not as long as I thought it would be originally." I let out a small chuckle. "But you don't need to try and convince me that you love me. I know."

"How?"

Peter looks at me, confused. "Well how do you know I love you?"

I shrug. "I just do. I know because of how you act towards me, how you speak with me, how you look at me."

"Well, there's your answer. I know you love me, even if you yell at me sometimes. I'm me, and you're you. You yelling at me is bound to happen and vice versa. I just know." He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. "And, I don't know if you remember this, but when I brought you to Declan's after the Lost Boys, when I was about to enter the house, you regained consciousness for a moment." I shake my head. The scene sounds familiar to me, but I can't really remember anything that he's describing. "You woke up for a moment or so and put your hand on my cheek, and just… the way you looked at me, you looked at me like I was your whole world. I knew without a doubt, that even if you were mad when you woke up, you loved me." He presses his lips together, obviously caught up in the memory that I don't have. "And every time that you've held onto my hand, or touched my face or brushed hair off my forehead or let me into your bed, I've known." He smiles at me. "I've know since the moment you let me hold you on that dock after you hallucinated, that you love me, ever if neither of us could put into words for a while."

I smile and lean forward, pressing my mouth on his. He responds eagerly, his mouth meeting mine delicious, his hands cupping my face as mine find their places on his shoulders. He deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding into mine and I relish the taste of him. It feels good to have him so close, to have his body pressed against mine. His touch is warm and soft and makes me want to melt right into him. I can't remember the last time I kissed him like this. I don't know if I've ever kissed him like this.

I don't need to know honestly if I ever have. All I need to know is that I love him and that he loves me.


	46. Forgiveness

Shadows pass across the ceiling of the hotel room as the clouds shift across the moon's face, revealing and concealing its light as they move across the sky. It's a calm and quiet night. For once, the wind isn't howling through the leafless trees of the mountains and there are no threatening rain clouds of the horizon. It promises a mild day. It'll be a good day for riding. I should feel good knowing that in the morning, Peter and I won't be riding through hail and sleet. It'll be brisk, but the sun will shine and it won't be as bad as it was before when we were riding through the winter.

We leave bright and early in the morning for the final mansion, for Neal. We have no plan for how to save Neal. We have no ideas and no clues. We've been carefully tiptoeing around the subject, both of us pretending the impending doom isn't hurtling towards us. We didn't speak about our plan when we left Declan's two days ago after a month of recovery for both Peter and I, with his entire family wishing us well.

Of course, there is still one option left: giving up my heart to Neal.

Although I'm sure Peter thinks it's a forgotten thought, it's something that's still constantly on my mind unfortunately. It's why I haven't taken the cure to the bitterseed. I can't promise myself a life until I'm sure my brother's is secure. I can't put myself before him.

I haven't told Peter any of this, of course. He'd take a bird if he knew that this plan of mine isn't scrapped. It's not as if I'm a fan of the plan either. It's not as if I want to completely give up any chance of a good life with him, but what kind of life would I be able to lead if I can't save Neal? Or if Neal wasn't a part of it?

I've spent the last century gritting my teeth and living through horror upon horror so that I would be able to have a life where I could be with my brothers, where we could be a family, build up lives together. What would be the point of it all if I ended up losing Neal?

It feels like some sort of cosmic irony that I managed to live through all this to only end up right in the same position, risking my life for Neal. It feels like I can only go so far in life, only get to the second last step to save Neal to find that it's impossible, that I've either been trapped on a magical hell of an island or that I can only get him back if I give myself up entirely. I'll never actually get to the point where I'm a good sister to him, where I'm a saviour.

The other cosmically ironic part of it all is Peter. If it hadn't been for Neal in the very first place, I would never have gone to Neverland, never lived through that hell and never have been at this point where forgiving Peter would not only make my life infinitely better but would most certainly save Neal's life. It seems all three of us still can't escape the marks that Neverland left on us.

Neverland still has it's hold on me, on Neal. Everything we both did to try and escape us still has a firm grip on us. Everything from our past keeps holding onto us tightly, not letting us move and get to live the lives we've been dreaming of ever since we were small. I just have a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that perhaps we'll never be able to escape Neverland's clutch. I feel like perhaps all neither of us is destined for what we've dreamed of our entire lives, of just being together with our families, finding love, being happy. I feel like I'm not destined to be a saviour, a good sister, or mother. It's a nagging feeling that's chased after me my entire life, but now standing at the precipice, seeing that there's not more options left, I finally gave to come face to face with that fear. And it tears me apart.

I sigh and turn over onto my other side, facing away from the window. Peter lies next to me, face buried in the pillows, snoring softly. I promised him that I wouldn't leave him alone. Ever since he's become human, he's gotten more anxious, frightened, remembering now after four hundred years of immortality and immunity that world is a big, scary place that can be lonely often times. He hasn't told me, but I can see it in how he speaks to other people, how his grip tightens on my hand when a certain thought sneaks up on him. He understands now that immortality was lonely, but mortality can be lonely too. I think it's what he's most afraid of. I think that this entire journey has been his realizing that he didn't want to be alone. He didn't want to be alone in his villainous ways, that he didn't want his life to only include himself, that he alone couldn't handle his past, that it took more than one to fill his life. I don't want him to have to bear it all of his own, because I don't want to bear it all on my own.

My life is infinitely better with him in it. Without him, I'd be just as lonely as he would be living as an immortal forever. His love and my love for him make every past horror seem bearable, makes life infinitely more liveable, makes the world less lonely. He outweighs every single thing that's happened.

But not all that can fix what my life may tumble into if we can't find a solution for Neal. Peter, human or immortal, couldn't find a solution and neither can I. We have no plan for Neal, but we're still setting out at the crack of dawn just because there's nothing else we can do but keep going forward, together.

And that's what I do for the rest of the night until the sky fills with life and becomes morning, just keep moving forward, alone and then once Peter wakes up, stretching and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, with someone else by my side.

We dress quietly, and pack up. We have a short quick breakfast before packing up. We exchange a few words, both of us realizing that today is the end of it all, that in the next little while we're going to find some resolution to Neal and that we may not like it, one bit. Both of us are scared for the other. I want to tell Peter that it's going to be alright when I see his shoulders tense and his jaw clench as he looks back at me from the doorway of the inn room, a bag slung over his shoulder but I can't guarantee that. I still have that sick, heavy feeling of dread weighing me down. I feel as if I'm having a premonition of something dreadful hurtling towards us, of the truth that I've been running from all these year finally catching up with me. I look around the room once more, my eyes catching on the cloudy sky with a tinge of purple. A bell goes off in the back of my mind but I ignore it. I brush off the feeling and say, "Peter?"

He turns to me. "Hm?"

"You know how much I love you, right?" I ask. "You make my life infinitely better and make the world a less lonely, less terrifying place. You outweigh every hurt and pain. You're what I hope for."

His face softens and he looks years younger. He drops the bag and shuts the door before closing the distance between us quickly, reaching out and grasping my hand, squeezing it tightly. "Do you remember when you found out I was immortal? That you said that you knew that I felt that I was missing something, that my life wasn't full and that immortality, and because of it my life, was ver, very lonely?" I nod. "You were right. And as cliche as it sounds, I was missing out on you and all the joy and love and hope you bring me. You also make my life infinitely better and you make this world warmer and kinder and far less lonely." He brings my hand up and kisses it. "I don't know what's going to happen in there, but at least we'll be together." I nod, squeezing his hand in mine. He starts towards the door before he falters, turning back to me, a questioning look on his face. He swallows. "You took the cure for the bitterseed, right?"

Now, it's my turn to falter, as I grasp for words. I look at him, ashamed that I've disappointed him, and ultimately hurt him as I shake my head. "No," I say softly. "I haven't."

"What?" he asks, his voice going flat. "What do you mean you haven't?"

"It means exactly that," I tell him. "I haven't. I'm sorry."

He looks at me, all tenderness dropping from his face as he lets go of my hand. "Why not?"

"I don't want to take the cure and throw away the option of giving up my heart for Neal. Not without having another option," I admit. Peter's shoulders drop and he gets that awful look on his face that I hate so much, where his mouth is set in a firm line and his eyes are a steely, cold blue. I haven't seen that look in months.

"I can't believe after all this you still haven't given up this ridiculous martyr act," he bites out through gritted teeth.

"It's my life, Peter."

"Exactly, which is why you shouldn't have to thrown it all away for your brother who got himself into this situation in the first place."

"He was trying to do exactly what I am now and what I have been for the last century. He knows he's responsible for his family, just like I'm responsible for mine. He was trying to help his father and get back to his son. His hand was forced by the entire situation because Gold killed himself to save everyone and he couldn't see Henry because we were banished to the Enchanted Forest."

"Because of what I did," Peter states coolly. "I hope you see the entire irony of this. I set the events in motion both times that you needed to save Neal and both times, to save him you've needed to give up your heart. A hundred years apart and exactly the same, except this time I'm determined that you won't throw your life away."

And just like that, all the pieces finally fit into place and I see it clear as day. That nagging fear that's been chasing me the past hundred years finally catches up to me and I see it face to face. And I don't just see it, I recognize it and I feel like the world slips out from under my feet and my heart grow cold. It's the man standing in front of me now.

"Fuck! Don't you see? It _is_ the exact same. It's been you both times, keeping me from my family. It doesn't matter that I love you or you love me. Both times, what you've done has kept me from saving Neal. Everything that has led up to this point has kept me from forgiving you." Peter looks as if he's been hit. "It's why the cure to the bitterseed doesn't matter. Because no matter how hard either of us try and spend nearly a year searching for a solution to Neal or even the rest of our lives, in the end, you will always stop me from saving my family. And the worst part is, everything I said before is true. You make everything better, but you're also in the way of everything else," I finish.

Peter looks at me, his eyes searching me over, eyebrows furrowed and mouth set in a firm line. He looks as if he's just been hit by a train. I've never before seen him so lost for words or confused. I didn't think it was possible for him to look even more heartbroken than he did before, but I guess it is. He looks completely miserable as he looks me up and down. It breaks my heart to see him like this and to know that I am the cause.

But we've finally gotten to the end of the line and after all this time, I've finally realized how things are supposed to be. I've given up officially. It doesn't feel how I expected it to feel. I just feel very cold and very far away. Like a dimly shining star, looking out over the beautiful world and knowing that I've never reach it, never get to be a part of it. It breaks my heart into little pieces, but I suppose my heart was never mine to break in the first place.

The silence drags on longer than I expected. I was sure that Peter would say something, anything. It's completely unlike him to be so silent like this. He's just as stubborn as me and when he doesn't like something, he doesn't stop going after it until it's his. But no he just stands in the doorway, silent and shocked.

After a while I find my voice and as, "Aren't you going to say something?" I ask.

He runs his hands through his hair before dropping his bag and sitting back heavily on the bed. He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose before saying, "I just can't believe you've given up. I honest to God never thought it would happen."

"I guess a hundred years is my expiry date," I say flatly.

He winces. "Please don't joke right now," he says softly. He leans forward and puts his elbows on his knees, bending his head down. He shakes his head. "I just can't believe it," he mumbles over and over again. I simply stand over him waiting. This entire scene is far from what I imagined it would be. I thought it would consist of a lot more yelling, more screaming. I thought at least one of us would be crying. Instead it just feels like the world is frozen and time's stopped. I feel incredibly isolated.

"Do you really believe that there's a way out of all of this?" I ask.

He looks up at me. "Of course I do. I can't believe you're the one who's given up all hope," he says, almost accusingly.

I slump down into the chair across from the bed. "It's been a century. It was hopeless from the beginning," I tell him. "It was hopeless to think there was more to any of this than just saving my family."

Peter shakes his head. He looks me right in the eyes, his voice never faltering and his eyes full of truth and compassion. "You're so much more than just a sister. Your life is meant for so much more. It's ridiculous that you've convinced yourself of anything other than the believe that you are everything you aspire to be and more," he tries to convince me.

I lean back in the chair, looking away. "It's much easier to say that when it's not you."

"Wendy, you can't give up on this. There's got to be another way, any other way than this."

"Peter, please."

"No, I'm not giving up on you. I don't care that you think you're supposed to just give yourself up to your family. You have so much more ahead of you. You always have. Do not let the past stop you from that," he says, eyes shining. I feel so far away from him right now. I feel like I'm miles and miles away from him and his warm hope. I feel icy cold and distant. I can't convince myself that any of what he says is true. I've seen it happen for the last hundred years, all I'm meant for is this. It doesn't matter that in Neverland I got to be more, or got to believe that I was more. This is all that there ever was. It was ridiculous to ever think that I could have more than that, that I could have that golden life with Peter and my family.

I shake my head slowly. "The past is already stopping me. I haven't forgiven you and that's the linchpin in all of this. And I'm so sorry for it. I wish I could but I just I can't. I just…" I shake my head. "It was never going to happen, just like everything else I wanted."

Peter looks at me, desperately shaking his head. "I can't find the words to tell you how misguided you are right now in your thinking." He moves slowly, closing the distance in between us until he's kneeling before me. His hands reach out to mine and at the moment of contact I feel a burst of warmth. I feel pulled from the frigid isolation to be right in front of Peter now, with him looking up at me, my hands grasped tightly in his. "I beg of you, Wendy, please do not do this. You have so much to live for. You're so much more than this. You deserve so much more," he pleads, his voice shakes with emotion but his eyes remain dry. We're both past tears and high emotions, just so tired of it all.

"That may be true, but it's not what I'm destined for, what I'm supposed to do," I say quietly, looking down at our joined hands, refusing to meet Peter's eyes. I slowly slump down, and sit heavily on the bed.

"So you're just going to accept it?" he asks, stunned.

I force myself to meet his gaze, his eyes wide and blue, looking up at me miserably. "What else is there? This is the end of the 've gotten no closer to finding another solution. It was hopeless from the very beginning."

He closes his eyes, furrowing his brow, shaking his head. "I still have hope. And I'll be damned if I just accept this." He looks up at me. He reaches up and tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. "I still have hope for you and the possibilities of you. For your future and mine. For our shared life, our possible home, our children. The idea of it, golden and glowing in my heart and inside of you, is what gives me hope." I take his hand and kiss his palm. His hand then moves to cup my cheek. "I love you and the hope you give me. And I will never give up on that, even if you have," he tells me.

I sigh. "I'm sorry I've given up, Peter. I love you, too, and the hope you've given me, but I just… I just can't do it. I'm sorry."

He shakes his head. "It's alright. I can't force you to do anything. All I can do is keep trying and hoping until you do, too." I almost remind that he doesn't have much time to wait around for me to do any of that, but I hold my tongue. I'm just so proud of him in this moment, having grown into this wonderful, hopeful, beautiful young man that I've gotten the chance to get to love and be loved by.

I smile weakly and brush his hair off his forehead. I run my finger along the scar under his hair line that he got what seems like years ago in that bar fight. It's smooth to the touch and almost perfectly mirrors mine. I think the universe is having a good laugh about how well we juxtapose each other and how ironic our lives are. I'd probably join in the laugh if it wasn't actually my life.

"You keep me hoping, despite everything," I tell him softly, almost a whisper. I lean forward and press a chaste kiss on his forehead. His skin is warm and inviting.

He looks up at me before standing up slowly, his hands reaching to cup my face as he brings his mouth down onto mine. The kiss is tender and slow, leaving a bittersweet taste in my mouth. His hands against my cheeks are warm and feel like home. I reach my hands up, tangling them in his hair as I pull him closer to me, for comfort and warmth. He leans into me, his weight pushing me down onto the bed. He's soon on top of me, his weight pressing into me in all the right places, creating delicious friction.

His tongue slips into my mouth, deepening the kiss. My tongue reaches to meet his, tasting him and savouring how he feels, tastes, smells. His mouth is demanding on my, desperate and I meet him in the urgency, in the frantic movements we make, growing hungrier and hungrier for the other.

I back up on the bed, until he's lying on top of me, his arms propping him up. I rotate my hips up against them and he groans into my mouth, the sound deep and throaty and lustful. His hands tangle into my hair, twisting and curling the gold tendrils around, almost admiringly as he continues to deepen the kiss. It grows deeper, more passionate. He breaks away to mouth his mouth down along my throat, kissing and sucking and biting softly. I moan into him, arching up into his body. My cheeks feel hot and everything feels magnified.

I move my hands to the bottom of his shirt, slipping them underneath it as I run my hands up and down his smooth chest. He shivers against my touch, biting lightly on my collar bone. He grinds down into me and I groan. My hands move deftly and begin to play with the buttons of his shirt, waiting for permission. When he grunts affirmation into my ear, I frantically unbutton them and soon enough his chest is bare and I'm helping him tug off his shirt, before my hands continue their exploration of his chest. My fingers ghost over the hundreds of scars he has, many of them I've stitched up over the years. I run my hands over his back, smooth also save for the hundreds of other scars there too.

Peter returns to my mouth, even hungrier than before if that's possible. His hips grind into me and his chest moves across my, creating friction between his soft skin and the rough material of my dress. I begin to tug it up and soon his hands join mine until the dress is tugged over my head and thrown away, beginning a pile on the floor with his shirt. Peter grinds down into me again, the flimsy fabric of my under-dressings feels like thin paper between the two of us and its still too much. Soon enough, it too joins the pile on the floor and I'm just in my bra and underwear. I tug on his pants and within seconds they join the ever-growing pile on the floor.

I wrap my legs around Peter and grind into him. He moans into my mouth and grind back into me harder this time. I arch up into him, the heat growing between my legs and between us rises. I need him now. I need him close to me and with me, beside me for as long as possible. I tell him so, whispering into his ear as I pepper kisses up and down his throat. He whispers back to me that he also wants me just as much as I want him.

And then soon enough its skin on skin, bodies rolling around, grinding and pushing. It's all breathy moans and pants, whispered 'I love you's between us. I say his name over and over again like a prayer, a promise. He shouts out my name, his hands twisting into my hair, pressing me close to him. It's awkward at first, but gets better the further along we go. And it overflows with passion and tenderness and love. It's all I could hope for.

After a while, we finish, collapsing into the other's arms, tired, happy and satisfied. I feel sleep tugging at me, urging me into its embrace as Peter tucks us under the covers and me into his arms as I let myself drift off into a dazed sleep.

I wake up only a short while later though. Peter's pressed into me, his arm thrown across my side and his breath puffs into my hair. I turn over slowly, careful not to wake him and take one long last look, happy that this was our goodbye. I try and memorize all his feature, the furrow of his brow, the set of his lips, how his eyelashes brush high cheekbones. He's beautiful and I love him more than I could ever begin to articulate, but I have a duty to my brother and family. So I slip out of his arms, careful not to wake him and get dressed quickly. I scratch out a small note and leave it next to him on the side table before taking my bag and setting off quickly. I want to have this finished before he even wakes up.

I saddle up Ash and begin galloping down the road towards Neal. He seems to understand my urgency and his hooves almost fly over the ground as we race towards the mansion, my brother. The more distance we put between us the more and more my heart breaks. I swallow up the sobs that threaten to break out of me as I think about Peter, and the mess I've left behind, but this is the only way. I swallow down the misery and guilt and soon enough I'm in front of the mansion, staring down my brother's house.

It looms up at the base of a mountain, made of the same grey stone as the mountain behind it. It's three stories tall and one of the most impressive buildings I've ever seen. It seems to have been carved out of the face of the mountain. There are gargoyles carved out of the stone, terrifying and cold, warding off anyone who dares to enter. The mountain sits right over a fjord that leads out to the cold and stormy sea beyond. It's grey and miserable and completely isolated. It's where I'm supposed to be now. I tie up Ash in the stables and take my bag along and hurry into the mansion.

I step in expecting it to be cold and uninviting but as soon as my foot crosses the thresholding, the entire place bursts forth into a warm light and heat meets me, seeping into my bones. It's undeniable now. Neal is here. I've finally found my brother. I break into a sprint as candles burst into flame down a hall, leading me towards a gigantic set of oak doors at the end. I crash through and look around wildly until I see him lying in a daybed, my salvation, my heart, my brother.

"Neal!" I shriek as I leap forward, crashing down onto my knees, taking his hands in mine and kissing his face, crying and laughing and rejoicing that I finally have my brother back. His arms, weak and frail, wrap around me, pulling me into a ferocious hug. He smells familiar and feels the exact same in my arms.

We both cry to the other, our tears soaking our shirts but neither of us could care less. We've finally been reunited after more than a year apart. I feel my heart repairing, mending as I hold him close.

But its all ripped away too soon, because Neal lets out a sharp bark and before me he transforms, as Gold pushes his way through and bursts forth. I stumble backwards, horrified and terrified. He looks ragged and sick. His skin is scaly and green, his eyes lizard like as he hisses at me.

"I can see that hear beating," he sneers at me. "It's mine." I feel the terror and confusion bubble up in me, looking into the face of this horrid creature. I can feel the power rolling off of him in waves, but I can also see the weakness. I can see his hands shake and his eyes waver over me. He is not the all-powerful Dark One I knew. He's some sickly version of it all, tormented and in pieces.

I ignore what he's said and demand, "Let me see my brother."

He cocks his head at me, the way an animal observing its prey does before it pounces. "Don't recall having a daughter," he says quickly.

"Let me see Neal," I manage. Seeing him, seeing his power I feel as if Neal is being crushed. He looks at me again, with the green gold lizard eyes and blinks before melting away into Neal. I rush towards him, hands on him checking for any wounds. But it just seems to be his state that's the only issue.

"Neal, are you alright?" I rush out. He groans and closes his eyes wincing. His hands clench on the chair and he strains forward. It breaks my heart to see him in so much pain.

"He's consuming me. I'll be gone soon," he says between breaths. I put my hands on either side of his face, grasping it and forcing him to look at me.

"Not if I have anything to do about it," I tell him, trying to keep my voice as steady as possible. He looks at me wildly.

"You found a reversal spell? How?"

I shake my head. "Not a reversal spell, a solution." The agony seems to stop pulling for the time being and he sits in the chair, still in pain but not writhing around anymore.

"I don't understand," he says.

My mouth feels dry and my hands feel hot and sweaty. He's going to be so angry with me when I tell him. Perhaps even angrier than Peter will be when he wakes up. I swallow thickly and say, "You've given up your heart to resurrect your father, so you need another one. I'm going to give you mine."

Neal stares at me aghast. He opens and closes his mouth several times before finding any words. "What the hell? NO! Hell will freeze over before I let you do that! What the hell? Where did you even come up with an idea like that?"

I slump into the daybed at his feet, still holding onto his hand for dear life, rubbing my temple with my other free hand. "It's a long story," I admit slowly, after some thought. How am I going to begin to explain to him everything that's happened in the past year.

"How did you find me? How did you even get here?" he asks, completely bewildered. He seems to be slowly realizing that my appearance here isn't some fevered dream but a real and true surprise.

I look over to him, drinking in his familiar features. Those deep, wise brown eyes that haven't changed one bit in the last century, his dark hair and facial hair, the stoic set of his mouth, his strong jawline. It feels like a glass of water after nearly dying of thirst to look at him.

I sigh and begin to explain, "When you brought your father back, his and Peter Pan's souls were linked or hooked onto each other, so when Gold came back so did he. And I went out to find you after you didn't come home when you said you would." Neal looks at me, his eyebrows furrowed together. "And through what I thought was pure chance, but turned out to be planned, we partnered up to find you. Peter would help me find you and in exchange for that, I'd give him the star."

"What the fuck? You teamed up with Pan? You know better than that," he exclaims.

"I was desperate," I say. "I was afraid you were dying, the star kept flickering out and I was desperate. When I met up with Peter, I was starved and half-frozen. It wasn't wise at the time, but it helped me survive." Neal looks at me, completely shocked and horrified, but I continue to recount the last eleven months, explaining to him the perils we face and how little by little we stopped hating each other and found that we could tolerate each other, and how toleration became fondness and fondness became love. I tell him about the adventures we went on and all the beautiful things we saw. I tell him about all the fights we had, and how much we hurt each other. I tell him about meeting Ursula and Declan and everyone else. I explain to him the Lost Boys and what they did to me. He weeps when I explain the horrors I lived through. Then I explain how Peter became mortal for me, to get the cure to the bitterseed. I explain how giving my heart to him is the only option, since I can't find forgiveness. And then, omitting the sex, I tell him how I left Peter sleeping while I came to give up my heart to him. Through the entire story I can see him being more and more convinced of the new Wendy and Peter, trusting both of us and believing. "And that's how I ended up here," I say, finishing off.

He shakes his head, looking down at our joined hands. "I can't believe it," he murmurs.

"I know. It sounds ridiculous when you say it out loud."

"I can't believe how much you've changed, how much he has." He seems to speak as if I'm not even here, like he's just trying to work through his jumble of thoughts. "This is… unfathomable."

I lean back in the day bed, resting for a moment. "It is."

"You know, he's right," he says. "I agree him."

"Hm?"

"About you not giving up your heart. I've lived for so long, Wendy. You deserve a chance at life, at happiness. Your whole life has been devoted to everyone else. You deserve to do something for yourself for once."

"Doing this for myself means you dying. I don't think I would have a chance at happiness without you there," I say. I kiss his hand. I try and show him physically how much I need him alive.

"And that's the same way I feel about you," he says.

"But there's no other option. It's hopeless, doomed," I say.

Neal shakes his head. "How are you so sure that you haven't forgiven him?"

I run my hands through my hair. "I… I don't know. He just hurt me beyond belief and I just…"

"You know forgiveness isn't not being hurt anymore," Neal says softly. "You're allowed to be hurt for the rest of your life. You're allowed to be angry. But not being hurt and angry anymore isn't when forgiveness happens. Its when you're ready for a fresh start, when that person proves they're ready to rectify what they've done, that the good they do now far outweighs the bad that they've previously done." He gives me a small smile. "I should know. I've spent my entire life forgiving my father."

With every word he says, I feel realization come upon me, not slowly and shyly, but hurtling towards me like an asteroid or train. I can feel it coming in my bones before I even realize it's there, engulfing me. And it's just like when I realized that I loved Peter, that I had loved him long before I'd known, and it's the same way now. I've forgiven Peter for longer than I've known. I didn't understand what it was until Neal gave me the right words to express myself.

I put my head in my hands, leaning forward. "Oh my God, oh my God." I look up at Neal wildly. "Oh my God, I've forgiven him all this time and I just abandoned him-oh my God. Oh my God!" Then it hits me. "I can save you and not die! Oh my God!" Another realization. "I just abandoned him, he's going to hate me, he's never going to-"

"Don't think that way," he tells me. "Now go get him and let's untangle me from my father." He pushes me forward and I spring up immediately. I give him a peck on the cheek before dashing out of the room and down the hallway. I fling the doors open and am about to bound down the stairs when I crash into something solid. I'm completely thrown off by the warm solid object I've just smashed into it takes me a few moments before I realize what it even is.

"Peter!" I exclaim, elated. I feel drunk with happiness, reaching up and grabbing his face, kissing him with excitement I barely notice the strange, familiar purplish colour the sky above us has become.

He pulls away roughly and then immediately starts yelling. "What the fucking hell were you thinking, Wendy Darling? You just fucking abandoned me and ran off to go die? I can't believe you would even consider such a thing!" His hands grip my shoulders and his shakes me. I barely notice I'm so excited and delighted with what Neal has just helped me to realize. "What the hell? Are you even listening to me?"

I reach out and touch his face gently. "Oh God, Peter, of course I am. I'm so so sorry. I shouldn't have done that. I'm going to spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you," I say, sobering for a moment. Even though he's not crying now, his eyes are red-rimmed and he looks completely disheveled and lost. It breaks my heart to know I've done this to him. "I am so sorry." I reach up and give him a soft kiss, trying to express how wrong I was. "I shouldn't have done that. I should have stayed with you. I'm going to stay with you. I will never leave your side ever again, I promise."

He leans forward into me, burying his face in my shoulder, wrapping his arms around me tightly and shakes, sobbing into my dress. I hold him, trying to soothe him and comfort him, feeling desperately miserable even though I have probably the best news of my life that I have to tell him. But I let him cry, let him be scared and broken. I feel awful for what I've done, what I've put him through.

Soon, he quiets and I rub soothing circles on his back before saying, "I've spoken with Neal and he helped me to realize something that I've been unaware of for a while." Peter pulls back a little, still holding me tightly. He looks at me, unsure. "I realized that I forgive. I probably have for a long time, and I'm so sorry to have put you through this but I forgive you and I love you and we can have a life together."

He stares at me for a beat disbelieving before his mouth is on mine. He picks me and swings me around. I can feel the rumble of laughter in his chest and a smile against my mouth. I laugh and smile with him, all the heartache over and our golden future together attainable and right before us.

Finally he sets me down and kisses me once more before saying, "I love you, Wendy Darling, and I'm going to spend the rest of my life with you."

"And I love you, Peter Pan, and I will never, ever leave your side." I smile up at him, my heart feeling lighter than it has in decades. "Now, let's go save my brother." And that's exactly what we do. We race down the hall and work quickly. It all feels surreal to have all of us together in the same room, with more than a millennium of living between all four of us, with so much shared history that it's unbelievable. Neal and Peter both speak to each other timidly, afraid that something might wreck the new found peace.

Soon enough, we have everything set up. Peter teaches me how to move my hand the correct way, how to feel for his heart, beating and alive beneath the palm of my hand. He helps me move with him and suddenly, I've pulled it out. It shines before me, a deep, deep burgundy pulsing and glowing, with just the barest beginnings of gold. I hold it like it's the most precious thing in the world to me, because it is.

Peter does the same for me, pushing in with his palm and before my very eyes, just as it was a century ago, with Neal sitting and watching, his life and mine hanging in the balance, Peter holds my heart. It glows bright and golden in his hands. It beats and pulses and looks like its been flecked with gold.

"A pure heart," I hear Peter murmur. I pass Peter's heart back to him, and as instructed, I put a little pressure on my heart and begin to urge it to separate into two halves. It's not painful at all like before. It feels like nothing at all as I pull my heart apart. Once I have two pieces, I lift one up to Peter's chest and one to mine and glide them both back into place.

I smile up at Peter when everything is placed. "You've always had my heart," I say quietly before giving him a quick kiss. We then turn to Neal, who's becoming worse and worse by the minute, morphing in between him and Gold, their skin pulling and stretching, threatening to break. He has a sheen of sweat over his brow and he looks deathly pale. He has precious little time left to get this heart. He needs it now.

But as I move to give Neal the heart, the windows behind him burst and shatter all over us. Peter's on top of both of us immediately, shielding us from the spray of glass. We all look to each other wildly as the wind whips into the room, upturning everything and bring in the impending smell of rain. I look around wildly, to my brother and Peter and then manage a beak over the day bed out of the window.

And that's when it clicks. The purple sky I saw today, how it clicked in my mind. I've seen this before, this erie purple impending storm. It's the storm that took us away from Storybrooke to the Enchanted Forest and as I come to realize it, I recognize it's familiar pull. Peter and Neal both seem to realize at the same time as I do, but we're powerless against it, all of it.

And then everything goes black.


	47. Return

The first thing I'm aware of is that I'm about to throw up. I roll over and vomit into the trashcan beside my bed, sputtering and heaving and praying that at some point the world will stop spinning. Then I pause.

I look up and find myself in my room in Storybrooke. I cool breeze filters in through the window, lifting the curtains and making them dance. Grey early morning light streams into my calm blue room. I sit up in bed immediately.

This is not where I'm supposed to be and yet I'm here.

I rack my mind for any explanation but the last thing I remember is standing with my brothers, waiting for the impending storm to consume us and after the hat everything is blank. Not a single memory. Did we go to the Enchanted Forest? Or did we not even reach it?

I kick off the covers of my duvet and race down the hall to Michael and John's rooms. I wake them up, shaking them. They slowly drift out of sleep and then immediately slam into the confusion that I'm feeling right now.

Even though my last memory is of them, as I look at them from across the kitchen breakfast nook, with our hands clutched tightly to our cups of tea, I can't help but feel that this is the first time in a long time that I'm seeing them. They look like they're a little older. Michael's lost the last little bits of his baby face and now has a full beard. John looks a little weaker than before, his cheeks hollow and dark circles under his eyes. He looks like he's been through hell.

"Something's obviously blanked our memories," John states firmly. Michael and I nod in agreement. We all know that our presence here is not something that is normal, not something that is right.

"There's just the question of whether it's all of the town or just us," Michael says. We let the other unspoken question hang in the air: whether Pan had anything to do with this or not. We all saw him killed but none of us can shake the feeling that he's somehow at the heart of all of this.

"Well, we're only going to find out if we go out and see," I say. Either someone will help us or we'll join the rest of the townspeople as we all scramble to find our lost time. "Let's go and get dressed and head downtown."

We all quickly get dressed. I afford myself a quick shower because for some reason I feel as if I haven't had a proper bath in months. To my horror, as I strip down, I discover scars all along my body that were most certainly not there before. I have faint burn scars running all over my legs, scars that could have only been inflicted by a knife. Even fresh new bruises dotting my skin. I even find a thin scar running along my hairline. We most certainly are missing time. But the mystery isn't so much that its gone, but what happened during that time. I've obviously been through some sort of hell.

Once down stairs, dressed in some of the only jeans I have, "mom jeans" as Mary Margaret told me, a pink cable knit sweater and a beige wool coat, we all stand in the hallway examining each other. We all look at each other, taking in these new, older versions of ourselves. I feel compelled to tell them of all the scars that I found but before I can strike up the nerve John says, "When I was getting changed, I found burn scars all over my body."

I let out a small gasp. "So do I!" I exclaim. "And all these other scars I've never had before."

"Were we in some kind of fire?" John wonders aloud. We all stare at each other, hungry for the memories we're missing, trying to piece back together our lost time. From the little we've discovered, our lives in the Enchanted Forest were not very easy it seemed.

After a few additional comments and examinations of our scars, we head out quickly to the car but are stopped short. A sharp cold breeze whips through our clothes, plastering our hair onto our faces. The trees are all bare and to the east of us, the harbour is stormy and grey.

"It's fall," Michael breathes almost to himself. My last memories were of summer. Could it only have been a couple months? Michael quickly pulls out the tiny little thing they call a cell phone and looks at the date. "It's November third." Another pause as he balks at the year. "My God, it's been nineteen months. We've lost more than a year and a half. What the hell is going on?"

We all look at each other, the uncertainty growing inside of us as we pile into the car and make the quick drive into the centre of town. Passing through the residential area, we see lights on in houses. People walk around the neighbourhoods almost in a daze. It seems to me as if we aren't the only ones suffering from this amnesia. Soon enough, we make into the main street in town, where we see a couple people making their way into Granny's. We park the car and join them.

I'm immediately hit by the smell of hot chocolate and pastries. People have moved all the tables into one giant one in the middle of the restaurant. Mary-Margaret and David stand at the head, try to calm all the chatter of everyone trying to figure out just want the hell is going on. To my surprise Mary-Margaret now has a wonderfully round belly and is very obviously pregnant. Regina sits at the table right next to where they stand, looking just as confused as everyone else. I recognize some of the other faces and names I got the chance to remember. I see some of the seven dwarves, Red and Granny, Belle and Archie. My heart sinks when I don't find Neal's face in the crowd. I tug on John's jacket, telling him so. He looks down at me just as concerned and we begin to discuss whether we should leave and go look for him when Michael puts in, "He may not have woken up yet or may be out already doing something. Let's give him sometime. He's a grown man. He can handle himself."

His calm tone relaxes me for a bit as we all settle down at one of the middle tables, each with the free breakfast pastries Granny has been given out and a cup of tea. Soon enough the room quiets and Mary-Margaret begins to speak. "So it's obvious that we've definitely lost some time."

"'Some time'," grumbles one of the dwarves next to me. "We lost nineteen fucking months." I can hear a couple other whispers around the table as people murmur about what we've all lost.

"It's obviously some curse that's taken our memories away, so we're going to try and find the person who made the curse and from there, we'll hopefully get our memories back," Mary-Margaret explains.

"Well, I think it's fairly obvious who enacted this curse!" someone pipes up from the back. All eyes turn to Regina who gives a sour look to the crowd in return.

"If I made this curse, do you think I would have blanked all my memories, too? Fools," she says, her words sharp and biting.

"We shouldn't start jumping to conclusions," David says, trying to calm the crowd. "None of us have any more or less idea about what's going on. And if we're going to figure this out, we can't turn on each other."

The crowd seems to quiet at that. "Now, the first order of business is to start making sure everyone is safe and accounted for. Once we do that, we start working backwards from our last memories to find what happened," Mary-Margaret explains. "So, we're going to split up in groups. Some of us are going to go down to the town hall and start making checklists of all the townspeople and the rest of us are going to form search parties and go out looking for everyone who hasn't checked in yet. We'll check in here at the end of the day and see where we stand."

"If you're hoping for any other help," I say, raising my hand as if I'm in school. Everyone turns to face me. "I do have the second star to the right. It may help in finding whoever enacted the curse." I take the navy velvet bag out of the pocket of my coat, offering it across the table to Mary-Margaret who accepts it graciously.

We quickly divide up into groups, some forming search parties and others going down to the town hall to start cataloguing. We get put into one of the many search parties. We're assigned a couple of blocks where we'll simply drive around and go door to door, checking who is there and sending the information back to the cataloguers. I protest at this. I want to go find Neal. John calls him on the cell phone and apparently gets no answer.

"Michael, really, this is concerning," I tell him.

"From what the Charming's said, people didn't all show up at once. They all come back on their own back to Storybrooke, he may not have come back yet even, or might have been out of reach of the curse," he says, trying to assuage my anxiety. I exchange a look with John. Michael makes some good points but I spent a hundred years looking for Neal. He has a habit of slipping out of my hands easily and I'm not going to drop this.

We eventually negotiate going to his apartment and checking to see if he's there before starting our search. If he's not, hopefully someone else will find him or he'll pop up in the next couple of days. I know rationally, he's probably fine, but the scars all over my body warn me that it was a dangerous life that we lived in the Enchanted Forest and I'm worried for my brother.

Neal's apartment is disappointingly empty. Michael tells me not to worry that there are so many more options for why he's not there and is somewhere else safe, then options where he's not. It calms me a little bit and once we start doing our rounds in the neighbourhoods, the activity helps me to not feel so overcome by anxiety.

At the end of the day, under a blanket of stars, after dropping off the names of people we found at the town hall, we return to Granny's. We sit in our same seats as this morning while Mary-Margaret tells us the results of our search. "Well, just over two-thirds the town is still missing," she says. "And from accounts today, people will probably continue to keep popping up well into the next couple of days, so if there are some people you haven't found yet, there is no cause for alarm. They will probably surface in the next couple days."

"As well, we found that there are people who were brought here by the curse from the Enchanted Forest who have never been to Storybrooke before, confirming that we did indeed go to the Enchanted Forest. And from what we've been able to map out from those new to Storybrooke, we can map out very roughly right now where the curse was. It'll be come clearer in the next couple of days, but it seems like the vast majority of the Enchanted Forest was affected," David explains, pointing to a pinned up map of a foreign land I don't recognize but apparently was in. I recognize a new bunch of faces all dressed in period clothing that must be the usual garb in the Enchanted Forest. from the whispers around the table, some of the newcomers are part of Robin Hood's band of men and Robin Hood himself. I almost laugh, realizing the bed time story, like almost every other person here has come to life. In fact, from what John and Michael have told me, we ourselves are apparently a fairytale.

"We're going to keep searching and checking people in until everyone is accounted for and hopefully that will give us some more clues. Report back here at eight tomorrow morning for assignments. Sleep well everyone," Mary-Margaret says before everyone stands up and begins to shuffle out of Granny's back to our respective homes.

Mary-Margaret quickly pulls me aside. She pressed my small velvet bag into the palm of my hand, smiling. I look up at her, confused. "It didn't work?"

She shakes her head. "It just kept going around in circles over David and me. The person who made this curse must not be our true heart's desire. But thank you anyway. You should keep using it." She smiles at me and pats my shoulder, before joining David at the door where he helps her into her coat.

My heart thuds in my chest, feeling likes its about to jump out of it. For the first time in a long time, I wish that I had something like David and Mary-Margaret have. I sigh. I know that right now at least it's a while away. But at least it's a possibility.

The next morning we arrive back at Granny's early, ready for the day and repeat what we did the day before. The same routine continues on for about a week. The days begin to blur together and I can't really tell days apart anymore. Michael begins to teach me how to drive, even though I make the point that I should probably have a license before doing that. But right now, it doesn't seem to matter to anyone. It's the same tedium of going door to door and then out into the fields, in search of missing people. Every turn I take and every door I knock on I hope and pray that Neal is behind it, but every time I'm disappointed.

I try and use the star the first couple of times but all it does is lead me in circles before flickering out. I have a panic attack the first time it does that. I feel the world narrow before I realize I'm on my hands and knees, hyperventilating on the ground. John is there immediately, sitting me up and forcing me to put my head between my legs so I won't pass out from hyperventilating. But the fear for Neal I felt the second I saw that star go out remains. I feel for it grow in my stomach, dark and bitter. I retire the star soon after that.

Michael on the third day, too, admits that it's time to begin worrying about Neal. About a week in, the vast majority of the town has been found, but there are still a dozen who still haven't been found, Neal among them.

"Why can't he ever just not get lost?" I hear Michael mumble to himself, when he returns late from a search party in the woods.

The days are growing shorter and darker. The snow begins to fall and leaves a flimsy blanket along the ground that crunches underneath my feet. This is the first time in a hundred years that I can remember even seeing snow. But the joy and wonder I used to feel at the beautifully unique snowflakes is snatched from me because I still don't have a whole family to enjoy it with.

On one of the days we're out searching in the neighbourhoods, I come upon a house that isn't listed among the ones I have on the list. It's as if the house has been added out of thin air, but John and Michael explain that it's probably been cut-off or there was some error, or hell, this town is built out of magic, it's not uncommon to see things appear with no explanation as to how they got there.

I jog up the stairs as I keep an eye on my brothers a couple of houses down, talking to a family from the Enchanted Forest as they try to explain to them basic technology. I'm no help with that so I just continued going door to door. As I mount the steps, looking around the house has a certain familiarity to it that I just can't place my finger on.

It's a simple Victorian house, with dark bricks and dark forest green trim. It's tall and slim and wonderfully beautiful. The door is a deep right dark wood with a knocker with a design of leaves on it. It reminds me of the houses back in London from eons ago. This wouldn't have been out of the ordinary at all. But here it seems to lurk in its shadows, beautiful and isolated. I can see that the lights are on in the house. I can see from the bay window next to the door that there's a beautiful living room with sleek dark furniture, all lined with books and a modern dining room behind it.

I knock on the door a few times and wait patiently for a response. But after a couple of minutes, no one answers. So I knock again, waiting for a response, thinking that perhaps someone inside hasn't heard me. I wait again. And still no answer. I find it exceedingly odd that this house that seems to have appeared out of thin air doesn't have a single soul inside it. I find it so odd that I turn to where my brothers still are a couple of houses down and across the street, but as I turn I catch a glimpse inside again and see a face. A face that I know like the back of my hand.

I don't even take the time to scream I just bolt down the steps and book it towards my brothers. I crash into them, words spewing out of my mouth like vomit. I can feel the world, shrinking again just like before as I try to explain to them what I just saw.

"Whoa, whoa, Wendy, slow down," John tries to calm me as he eyes the bewildered looking family at the door. I ignore them.

"I swear to God it was him in that house, John! He's back we have to go back there and-"

"Wait, what? Who's back there?" Michael comes up from behind me, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. "You need to take a deep breath. Come on, in and hold and out." He repeats the same mantra he did earlier this week until I've calmed down enough to speak to them in coherent sentences.

"Pan!" I shout, not minding that I've scared this poor family half to death with all my shouting and panicking, but I don't really give a damn. In fact, I think everyone should be just as freaked out as I am. "I saw him! In that house, the one that wasn't on the list!"

John and Michael share a look that I know means "She's definitely losing it."

"NO!" I shriek. "You have got to believe me. I turned to call to you and I saw him, peaking out from the hallway into the kitchen. I know it was him. I just know it."

"Wendy, it was probably just your imagination. Pan's dead. He has been for almost two years now. You need to calm down," Michael says, trying to soothe me.

"Calm down?! He ruined our lives! He's killed hundreds. And if you think for one second that he's not capable of coming back and stirring up shit, you're ridiculous. We have to burn that place to the fucking ground with him in it!" I shout. My brothers flinch at my violent language but I don't care. I need to protect them and getting them to believe me is how I'm going to be able to keep them safe."He's probably behind this whole curse. It would make perfect sense."

"Wendy, seriously, he is dead," John says in his most calming voice.

"NO!" The family closes their door at this outburst.

"Do you want us to go check? We can go check, just to show you it was your imagination," Michael tries to reassure me. I roll my eyes.

"Like he's going to show his face now that I've seen him," I scoff.

John turns to Michael. "You know, we should probably actually call David about this."

"What? You believe her?"

"Thanks for the confidence in me, you two."

John sighs, rubbing his forehead. "I'm not saying it's Pan, but it is a little odd we don't really have any record of the house. I mean, Belle did just text back it's not in the database."

"See! I told you so!"

"Wendy."

"I'm not being ridiculous. It's Pan! I know it."

"We're just going to call David, okay?" John slips his cell phone out of his pocket and quickly calls up David, explaining the situation and asking him to come meet us as quickly as possible, preferably with someone who has magic.

David, Mary-Margaret and Regina pull up in David's pick-up ten minutes later. They all pile out of the truck before coming up to us. I begin to explain to them what happened, but John quickly cuts me off, explaining that I'm getting hysterical. I swallow my anger at him and save it for later at home.

After explaining the situation, Regina quickly walks over to the house. She stands right before it and looks at it for a couple minutes, contemplating. Then almost as quickly as she went over, she comes back.

"Well," she begins. "Wendy is partly right. That house was made by Pan. But from what I can tell about the magic, it's as old as the time he's been dead. He probably created it before he died and no one noticed in the chaos. But from what I can tell, there's no one in the house."

"How?" I demand. "Pan is extremely powerful. He could be hiding."

"Honey, the tracker spell I did would have found someone with one teensy minuscule drop of magic in them. There's no way it could have missed Pan."

"But he's-"

"Powerful, yes, but I'm more so," she says, interrupting me. She's not being rude or anything. Her tone is calm and not at all patronizing or arrogant. She's just stating the obvious. "Look, you must have recognized his magic without realizing and your mind took off from there without you knowing. I wouldn't worry about it. He's dead."

I feel only slightly less panicked about the entire thing. And once the Charming's drive off, I begin to feel like my paranoia was perhaps misplaced. What Regina said was probably right. I still have a terrible feeling about that place, but what Regina said seemed logical. I probably recognized his signature magic without realizing and freaked out without even realizing it.

At the end of the day, once we're done with our jobs, we sit around the fireplace, reading quietly. I'm in my pyjamas but Michael and John remain in their day clothes, apparently preferring them. I look up at them, and sigh, feeling guilty.

"I'm sorry for how I acted today," I say at length. They both look up at me from their respective books. They look at me calmly. They don't seem mad at me at all.

"It's alright, Wendy," John says finally. He pushes his glasses up and blinks at me with his calm brown eyes. "We forgave you the minute it happened. It makes sense that you reacted that way and it's okay."

Michael nods in agreement, his blonde hair falling into his face. "Yeah, it's completely understandable. You were just trying to protect us." He smiles, his eyes crinkling so painfully like my father's. "Just like you always do."

"I love you guys," I say, smiling.

"Love you, too, Wendy," John returns.

Before Michael can echo the sentiment, his phone rings and he picks it up immediately. "Hello?" He pauses, listening. "Yeah, okay. Alright, we'll be there in ten minutes." He hangs up the phone. "That was David. They think they've found some missing new Storybrooke citizen. They need our help doing a sweep of the forests." John deflates closing his book. He stands up and heads to foyer to grab his coat with Michael.

"Hold on, I'll get dressed," I say before turning to go upstairs.

"No, it's okay," John says, grabbing my hand. "You can stay home. You've had a long day." I feel like protesting. I have a feeling this is more about them seeing me as a little sister now more than me having had a long day. But I really don't want to change and they seem to be fine without me. So I let them go, telling them both goodnight before waving them off as they drive off down the road towards Granny's.

After that, the house is empty, but warm. It reminds me of our old house, light and warm, homey. I feel safe and comfortable here. I curl up back at the fireplace, at my new favourite armchair next to the window that looks out onto the harbour and finish a couple more chapters of my book before calling it quits for the night.

I turn off the lights and head on upstairs before settling into bed. My nightmares that used to torment me seem to have disappeared almost out of thin air. I'm sure something happened in the last nineteen months that helped me to heal enough that the horrors of Neverland don't plague me in my sleep. I'm happy that I've grown and healed enough for that. In fact, I feel older, wiser perhaps now. I feel like I've grown more into the person that I'm supposed to be. I feel like I'm no longer just a sister to my brother's, but closer to what I had always dreamed, and though I'm still scarred by everything and my life is far from perfect at this point, I feel like I've made peace.

The thought helps me drift off to sleep easily, not needing to stay up so late reading that my eyes feel heavy. But that peaceful sleep I thought I would be getting from now on doesn't last long. Unfortunately, a nightmare comes to me full of shadowy figures and tall looming houses, things that go bump in the night.

I'm jolted awake and lie in bed, my heart thumping in my chest. I know the exact source of those dreams. That cursed house that Pan created. I went to bed pacified with everyone's explanation about why I thought I saw him, but now waking up, I couldn't be less convinced. I've got to go out and take care of him myself. If he's behind this curse, I can finally get my memories and Neal back.

I throw off the covers and quickly dress in a pair of black jeans, a light blue cable knit sweater and I throw on my beige jacket over top. I check the clock and it's just past midnight. I go over to my brothers' rooms, checking that they aren't back yet. They've only been gone two hours and they said they would be late. Going to check and make sure Pan isn't actually there shouldn't take more than an hour. They won't even miss me.

I swipe Michael's car keys, stopping for a moment to feel guilty about it. The old Wendy would never have even dreamed about taking her brother's car, never would have even considered going up against Pan, but I'm different now. I feel stronger, more like a hero than just someone's sister. I quickly lock up the house and get into the car. Backing out of the driveway takes about ten minutes but once I right myself properly, the drive to Pan's house is barely fifteen minutes. Before I know it, I'm in front of the house. I boldly pull up into the driveway and park the car. I slam the door loud enough that if someone were in the house, they'd here.

The lights to the house are off now and the entire street is silent. A cold wind whips through the trees and bites at me through my jacket and my teeth begin to chatter. I become suddenly aware that I've gone out in the middle of the night without anyone knowing my whereabouts to a relatively secluded place in search of a powerful man with infinite magic. I feel alone and small, but I swallow up that feeling and march up the steps. This is for my brothers, for this town, for me.

I march right up the steps, steeling myself to knock as loudly as possibly but as my hand reaches for the door it swings open, light suddenly pouring out from the house.

I gasp.

"Oh, my God."


	48. History Repeats

"Oh, my God," I repeat. I feel like the wind has been knocked right out of me.

Before me stands a completely alive Peter Pan. He holds the door wide open, leaning against the frame and gives me a lazy, victorious smile. I can't believe that he's been able to climb his way back out of the depths of hell only to come back and continue to ruin everyone's lives. If he's here, he is surely responsible for the curse and without a doubt, responsible for Neal's absence.

I feel fury inside of me, coming from deep within me, surging upwards and out. I lunge for him, a momentary lapse in my fear and evidently, my better judgement. Peter's not expecting me to throw my whole weight against him and he topples over when I begin to pummel my fists into his chest.

"Where is he?" I cry. "What did you do to him? Give me my brother back, you bastard!"

Peter grabs at my fists, finally grabbing enough composure together to realize that I've tackled him to the ground. But to both my and his utter surprise, he isn't strong enough to keep me from breaking out of his hands and continuing to try and shake the truth out of him.

He's weaker. I don't give a damn why, but all I know is that for the first time in a hundred years I have an advantage over him. I slam his arms above his head and shout at him. "You did all of this, you bastard! Took our memories and took Neal!" I shake him. His eyes seem out of focus. He has yet to even utter a word in response. "Give them back!" He blinks at me, deaf to my shouting. I shake him once more and this seems to finally snap him out of his daze.

He looks at me, lazily, with an arrogant set to his mouth that I feel like slapping off. "Stop your fits, you stupid girl. For once, I haven't caused the chaos that is your life right now."

"Liar," I growl out. I lean down forward, so close that I can smell mint on his breath, see the deep dark circles under his eyes. It's obviously taken a toll on him, creating this curse. He looks older now too. The great and youthful Peter Pan has finally aged. "Undo this. Now!"

He rolls his eyes, unmoved by my display of rage and fury. "If I had made this curse, do you think I would be here? In this godforsaken town? Living like a mortal?" He scoffs. "You forget my original curse. I wanted a new Neverland. If I had done this, nothing would be here."

I bite down my retort because he makes a fair point. If he had caused this curse, things would most certainly be different. There would be violence and mayhem, blood shed in the streets, wild Lost Boys everywhere. Lost memories and a couple missing people is too soft and human for Pan. It's completely unlike him.

But then again, he invested nearly two weeks with me when I first met him just to trick me into giving him the Heart of the Truest Believer. This could just be history repeating itself all over again, a hundred years later and the same goddamn ruse.

"You like to play games, this could be another one," I counter. "To get the Heart of the Truest Believer."

"That game would be a waste of energy. If I had made this curse, you'd have given me your heart by now already," he says. I let go of his hands and lean back, still sitting on him, keeping him in place. The door is still flung wide open, letting light and warmth out into the cold night.

It truly doesn't seem likely that he's the one who's responsible for all of this. I know Pan and this is not his signature. And he's telling the truth for once, if this was him it would be extremely, extremely different. No one would be getting to lead relatively normal lives, even if they're suffering from amnesia. He would be king and we would all be his playthings. It would be chaos all over again, all his followers running amok, wreaking havoc everywhere they went. This is not how Pan operates. This is not his doing.

But still this entire situation still doesn't quite make sense. Why hasn't he changed this to his own tastes by now? We've been back a week. I know he has more than enough power to enact another curse, to get his Neverland back one way or another. He always has a back-up plan for his back-up plans. It's completely unlike him to have stayed so quiet all this time without changing anything. Why has he let everyone continue to live as they want? It doesn't make any sense.

There's nothing that I can think of that could hold him back now. He can do whatever he wants. It's not like he's okay with this situation right now. He's holed up in this house without his minions and his kingdom at his disposal. He must hate it. What would keep him from changing everything? There's nothing I can think of that would be him from doing anything.

He sighs. "Are you going to get off me now?"

I ignore him. "You didn't cause this, but why haven't you changed it?"

"Changed what?"

I gesture to the house, outside, myself. "Everything. Why not just create a new world, or go off somewhere, change the magic here?"

I see him hesitate for half a second, his eyes darting between me and the empty space above my head. "It's not that simple, bird," he says at length. "I need things, rare things to change the world, get a new Neverland." I can see him swallow. He's nervous. I know that after all these years I've finally caught him, got him at a vulnerable moment long enough to trip him up and get the upper hand. It feels wonderful.

This time I know he's lying. "Liar."

"It's true!"

"What you said may be true, but its not the reason why you haven't done anything yet. It's been a week already."

He has the means to change it all. The unlimited power and resources.

He rolls his eyes. "Then what's your amazing conclusion?"

Unless…

"You're mortal," I state simply. He balks at me, and not because it's a ridiculous, ludicrous statement, but because it's true and I figured it out within five minutes of seeing him. He splutters a series of "That's impossible!", "You're out of your mind!" and "How?" while I just watch him flounder. I can't believe I was actually right. The great Peter Pan is now just a mortal man, someone I can handle, my equal, no longer a lofty enemy. The playing field is now levelled.

"What makes you think that?" he finally splutters out.

I count off on my fingers. "Regina when she came to the house searched for magical beings and she found none, even though you were here. You haven't done anything to even begin changing the curse for your benefit even though we've been here a week, because I'm sure you haven't even left this house. I was able to take you down and keep you down." I cock my head and look at him. "Also you look mortal."

He scoffs. "Fuck you."

"Hey, I'm not a cowardly mortal who's hidden from the entire town this whole week because they would slaughter you if they knew you were alive." I look at him and laugh. "What was your plan even? Just hole up here the rest of your life? Someone was eventually going to figure out you're here." He bristles at my words, cross his arms and sets him mouth into a firm straight line. He defiantly looks away. "What have you even been doing for the last week?"

"None of your damn business," he bites out.

"I am very happy to know that karma actually works," I tell him, grinning. This is such a completely different shift from what my relationship was with Pan before this and now. I feel healed now. I feel stronger and in control. I don't feel dragged down by the horrors of my past. I can see this man who has been my enemy for what seems like eons and laugh in his face. It feels good.

"Are you going to get off now?" Peter demands. His eyes flash and he glares at me, still lying on the floor of the foyer. He doesn't look as otherworldly as before. His eyes which were once so light and icy are much more human. I can see genuine emotion reflected back in them. It's startling to see this once heartless creature transformed into a human. It makes all the rage and hatred I thought I felt before lessen.

I push myself up off him and get to my feet, taking a few steps forward as he passes me to get to the door. At the entrance into what I assume is his living room and dining room, I falter. Every table is covered in old books, some open with notes in them and some piled as high as me. I glance back at Peter who glares at me. I grin.

"Trying to figure out how to get your powers back?" I ask, chuckling.

He swings to door wide open now and a gust of wind blows through, biting and chilling me even though I'm still wearing a jacket. I can't imagine it's any better for Peter who's simply in black jeans and a t-shirt. He looks odd this way, much more human than I would ever think he was capable of. Even when he was running around Storybrooke last time, he was always in his usual Neverland garb. I've never seen him in something so… mundane.

"You need to leave," he tells me through gritted teeth. I'm not too fond of spending anymore time with him, but if I know Pan and I do, I know he's my best bet at figuring out what happened to Neal. He's always two steps ahead of anyone else. His intelligence is perhaps one of the only things I don't detest about him.

I shake my head. "I don't think so," I say, giving him a grin. He rolls his eyes. "I have a sneaking suspicion that those books aren't just some light reading."

"Oh?"

"No, I think you're trying to figure out what the hell happened to all of us and how to get your powers back," I deduce. His face drops and he gives me a dark look. "If I recall correctly, Rumplestiltskin killed you and himself. I bet you that when you came back, someone was trying to bring him back and you were an accident. And I'm certain that person was my brother."

He gives me an appreciative look before closing the door. "Smart girl. Your intelligence is perhaps one of the only things I don't detest about you," he tells me before brushing passed me into the living room. I try and hide my surprise at his similar thinking before turning to lean against the doorjamb in the living room.

"Likewise," I tell him before continuing. "I'm sure that your resurrection, the loss of your powers and my missing brother are all connected. And if I know you, you're already ahead of everyone else when it comes to figuring out what happened."

Peter picks up a book and sits heavily into a black armchair by the window. He begins to leaf through pages before saying, "Let me guess? You won't tell anyone I'm back if I help you find your brother?"

"Yes," I tell him.

He puts the book in his lap down before feigning confusion. "I have a feeling of deja vu right now. I feel as if I've been in this situation before," he mocks before he bites out a bitter laugh. I stare at him unmoved.

"It seems the universe has a dark sense of humour," I comment, unamused.

He grins. "Will I get a… what did you call a kiss… oh yes, an acorn this time?"

I feel my cheeks burn. I feel just like that timid young girl again, with sweaty palms and her heart beating so hard it might very well burst out of her chest. I feel so nervous and embarrassed again. I hate how he makes me feel. He played me so well back then, I didn't see it coming.

I try and push those feelings down deep within me. I know Pan now, know how he works and how he gets ahead. I know that this time around I won't get played. I'm older and smarter this time around. I won't let him get the better of me. I will get my brother back.

"Fuck off." He just grins back. He was just trying to get a rise out of me and I knew it. I need to be more careful.

We pause for a moment, silent, me glaring at him and him grinning back. It's a familiar scene. It's one that was very common back when we were on Neverland all those eons ago it seems now.

"Don't stand there like a stranger, bird," Peter tells me. He pats the couch. "We've got work to do."

I hesitate in the doorway. I hadn't really expected to start now. I was planning on taking the car back home and finding a more definite time when John and Michael wouldn't wonder where I've gone off to. I don't really know anyone here yet. I won't be able to explain away my absences that easily without them knowing I'm lying. I may be their big sister, but they still want to keep me close and safe. Besides, I'd rather not tell them I'm working with Pan to save our brother. They'd be less than impressed.

I look at the front door, with my car parked in Peter's driveway. What if someone sees Michael's car parked out front? That would be so quickly spiral out of control if someone were to ask him about it. There would be no rational explanation that I could give to them. Hell, the truth isn't even a rational explanation.

They would lose it if they even suspected what I was doing here. I've spent lifetimes apart from them all because of this bastard in front of me, and now I'm back to working with him. I know better than this, I know not to trust him. I know that there are risks, big risks that I'm taking just being here. I should just walk out the door right now. I should just slam it and call David or Regina or someone and have Pan locked up far from civilization for the rest of his life.

It's what he deserves. It would bring justice to everyone.

I sway on my feet, get ready to leave and slam the door just as quickly as I jumped through it. But getting revenge on Peter and getting him locked away forever won't bring Neal back. It won't make my family whole. I don't even think it'll make me feel whole inside. When I stop to consider what I really even want from Pan, I don't want revenge or violence from him. I just care about my family. And he's the only option right now.

Regina doesn't seem to be too concerned about Neal, and there's no one else in town with as much knowledge or the resources. He's my best option and if I walk out on him, I leave behind the chance of bringing my family back together once and for all.

I take a deep breath and steel myself. I quickly take off my coat and shoes, leaving them by the door. I walk into the living room where Pan is, sitting in a black armchair, leafing through an old book.

I sit down awkwardly on the couch across from him. He doesn't really look up from his book. It feels awkward and tense now that neither of us are being particularly antagonistic towards the other. I recall that over a couple of decades, there were some rare moments where Pan and I could sit in peace together, reading or simply sitting. It would often be after some catastrophe or when he came to me particularly beaten. Neither of us would have the energy or want to be anything other than silent and in someone's company.

I remember him on those nights. He looked young and lonely back then. I often thought about how even though he seemed to relish in every aspect of Neverland, he got lonely being its king. I think that he got pushed too far sometimes or had to be something that he wasn't just to be stable. All the Lost Boys were clamouring for power and strength. I think it wore on him to have to be so violent just to keep him position. I think he regretted it. And in those times, he was pensive and quiet and most tolerable.

I remember one night, after confronting him killing about one of the Lost Boys I had made friends with Declan, that he had told me that sometimes he didn't want to be the villain. He had said, "It seems for both of us, that our hands are forced. It seems we're both trapped, thrown into a position we don't want to be in, caught up in our past mistakes and shortcomings, with outside forces pushing us to be people we aren't."

I had understood him in that moment, empathized with him in the short silence following before he abruptly left. He had been more than tolerable then. He had understood. Even if he was to blame for both our situations.

It's so odd now to see him be anything but that role he had back in Neverland. I don't know if he can even remember who he was before he was the Boy King there. He's been stripped of everything. His whole being was Neverland, and in a way so was mine, now we're both out here in this world trying to find some way to find something else for our lives to revolve around. Sometimes I feel like all my person ever was was Neverland and now, I get to be who I was really meant to be. I wonder what he was meant to be.

"Are you just going to sit there and stare or are you going to do something?" His voice breaks me out of my thoughts. His tone is annoyed and flippant. It feels less awkward now.

"I'll start doing something once you tell me what I'm supposed to be looking for," I bite back.

He closes the book and leans back in his chair. "I'm looking for resurrection spells. I think what you said before was right. That it wasn't any of the Lost Boys who were trying to bring me back, but someone who was trying to bring Gold back, most likely Belle or your brother, perhaps both. I think our souls must have hooked onto each other when he killed me and when he was resurrected, I came back with him."

I stare at him before asking, deadpan, "You have a soul?"

He gives me an unimpressed look. "Glad to hear you're focusing on what's important."

"Do you think that the resurrection spell might have taken your powers away?"

Peter scoffs. "Well, I never would have given them up willingly so that's the only option." He's right. Pan would never give up his powers for anyone or anything. I can't imagine such a backwards universe where he would willingly have parted with his powers. He loved his immortality and magic more than anything else in this world.

"Then could Gold perhaps be without his own powers, too?"

"It would make sense," Peter agrees.

"So then we're looking for a spell that draws significant power," I tell him.

"Every resurrection spell does that, so it doesn't narrow it down."

"Don't talk down to me," I warn him.

Pan rolls his eyes and goes back to his book. "Start looking through the pile on the left. They're all in English."

I give him an icy glare that goes unnoticed before diving into the pile. I flip through the pages and pages of spells, all with titles and potions and instructions to go along. I didn't do much reading on Neverland and the reading that I did before and after most certainly did not include spells. Having lived with magic most of my life, it still seems so surreal to be reading such fantastical things that still seem just like fairytales to me.

We're both silent as we leaf through the pages. It's odd, sitting in the silence, not feeling the urge to throw something at Peter or scream. Being around him doesn't feel as tense as before. I don't feel as furious or even as irritated with him as I usually do. Perhaps while I was in the Enchanted Forest, I made peace with him. Perhaps I was able to start a new, fresh life without him and now, even without my memories, my heart knows I've healed and moved on.

"Do you know what happened to the Second Star to the Right?" I freeze and take a shaky breath. I had been hoping he wouldn't ask about it, even if I had briefly considered using it as a bargaining chip. But it was most certainly something that would jumpstart the process of him getting his powers back and that was most certainly not what I wanted. If I could get him to help me find Neal without it, then I wasn't even going to mention I had it, much less that I had it on my person.

"When Neverland collapsed, didn't it just cease to exist?" I ask, playing dumb. I hold my breath, hoping he won't catch me in the lie.

He narrows his eyes at me. "No, it didn't. It collapsed down into a star, small enough to hold in your hand. Very powerful. The main thing it could do was lead you to your heart's greatest desire."

I shrug, silently thanking whatever power in the universe that was out there that he hadn't caught me in the lie. "I don't know where it went."

"I know the fairy Meissa had it last, but I don't think she intended to keep it."

"I know four people in this town, one of them is missing and one of them is you. I don't even know who Meissa is." I'm so surprised he hasn't even questioned the truth of what I'm saying yet.

Pan rolls his eyes. "You're so helpful."

"I'm not here to be helpful to you. I'm here to find my brother."

"It would help us both if you could find the star."

"I don't want you going anywhere near it. It's too powerful. You'd hurt someone with it."

"If you found it, it would lead you to your brother."

"No," I tell him vehemently. "You're not getting it."

"Why are you vetoing this immediately? You wouldn't care if I could get my hands on it, if it meant there was a slight chance you'd be able to find Neal," Pan questions. Damn it. I should have just said yes. Now the fucking jig is up.

"You don't know that," I say, trying to back pedal.

"Yes, I do. You were willing to give up your heart to Neverland just so Baelfire could live." I give him a cold glance. He grins back. "You have it, don't you?"

I glare at the wall across the room. He lets out a laugh. I turn over to glare at him but I see the smile on his face and the way his eyes light up when he laughs and I feel my heart thud in my chest. I feel my cheeks grow warm. My heart feels like it might leap out of my chest.

I immediately jump out of my seat, astounded by my reaction to him. I feel my hands begin to shake. I don't even know where to begin with it, what to make of that light, warm feeling I felt when I looked at him, his blue eyes open and sparking and his face crinkled so beautifully by his laughter.

I look wildly around the room. I can't be here anymore. I can't handle this feeling. I need to leave. In a split second, I've decided to get the hell out of this house and as far away from Pan and this gooey, confusing feeling. I slam the book down on the table and march right out of the living room into the foyer.

My hands are shaking as I reach for my boots when I hear his footsteps behind me.

"Where the hell are you going?" he questions me as I pull on my boots.

"Home," I clip out. I don't even want to look at him.

"You're just going to flake because I caught you in a lie?" he asks. His words are harsh and I let them wash over me. It's easier to get mad at him than to have to deal with how I felt before.

"No, I just need to leave right now." I straighten up and make a grab at my coat, but Peter anticipates this and snatches the coat before I can. I clench my hands into fists, my nails digging into my palms before turning to look at him.

I don't feel my heart thud so loudly in my chest when I look at him this time. Instead, I still feel like that nervous little girl all those years ago, trying to convince a young Peter that an acorn was a kiss. I feel silly and confused and terrified.

"You're being such a baby at this," he tells me, my coat still in his hand. I make a swipe at him, but he moves his hand back.

"Give it back," I grind out, ignoring him. I wish he would just let this go and let me leave. I don't want to continue having to pretend this is about the star. I just want to get out of here.

"I've caught you in worse lies before, why is this one any different?"

"It's not! I just need to go!" I make a grab for the jacket again but he moves out of my grasp. "We're too old to be playing this stupid game!" I exclaim, exasperated.

"We're too old for acting like a baby just because I caught you in a lie," he tells me.

"Give me my coat back."

"Tell me why you don't want to use the star."

"No."

"Then, no coat."

"Fine," I say. I can survive the walk to the car without my coat. It's not essential. I turn to the door, ready to stomp out but Pan's quick for a mortal and squeezes in front of me, blocking my path, and getting much to close for my liking.

"Tell me," he repeats.

"No."

"You're not making this easy."

"When is this ever easy?"

"Just tell me. I already know that you have the star."

"I'm not going to give it to you."

"I can't use it without your express permission."

"Oh."

"There you go."

I take a deep breath and try to ignore how he smells like mint this close to me. "I used it a couple of days ago. It flickered. I got scared. I don't know what it meant."

Peter nods slowly, recognition and understanding flickering in his eyes. I find myself thinking about how nice his lips look when he pouts like that when he concentrating. I shake myself.

"That gives me a better idea of what spell we're looking for." Good, but I still need to get the hell out of here.

"Okay. Give me my coat back."

"What? Why?"

I scramble for a lie. "It's nearly two. My brothers will be back soon." Not even really a lie.

He doesn't push this lie this time. Instead, he holds out my coat for me, positioning it so that he can help me slip into it. He seems surprised himself that he even did such a courteous thing. I hesitate, astonished and confused at his own odd behaviour. I hesitantly turn and let him help me slip into the coat, before turning around to zip it up.

He catches my eye as I finish the last couple of buttons. He doesn't look as calm as I thought he would be. He looks at me almost uncertainly, his eyes soft and blue. It's a completely different hue from what I remember. He looks human. And it's a good look on him.

"Alright," he says at length. "Drive safe, I guess." He seems surprised that he's even said something like that. I nod quickly, still standing in the same place. I don't know whether I'm help in place by the complete weirdness of the situation or by how soft his mouth looks.

His eyes flick up to mine and then down to my mouth for a moment. The slowly and hesitantly, I feel him lean forward, closer to me. His eyelids lower and one of his hands comes up to my cheek, touching it so softly that I'm not even sure it's there. My eyes flutter close and I lean into his touch, feeling myself lean forward.

I have no idea what the fuck is going on but I'm not going to try and stop it.

I feel his breath on my cheek, warm and comforting, just before his lips graze mine. They barely meet before he jerks back from me, waking us both up from that waking dream. My eyes fly open and I feel the room get noticeably colder.

He immediately brushes past me. "You need to leave," he says shortly, and he begins to stomp up the stairs. I don't even take the time to yell out something angry to try and normalize the situation. I simply just get out of that house as soon as possible, slamming the door behind myself.


	49. Confusion

Waking up feels like pulling myself out of quicksand. Unpleasant dreams prick at my mind but I can't quite remember any of them. I slowly sit up in bed, my body aching. Every since coming back, I always feel aches and pains I never felt before. I can't begin to conceive of what happened in the Enchanted Forest.

I sit in bed momentarily, looking around the room that's only half decorated. For a couple of moments, I just breathe in and out, my gaze resting on the window that looks out into the harbour. It feels peaceful, calm for once, until last night catches up with me.

I got home late last night, past two, but luckily well before John and Michael came in. I heard them stumble in around four. They didn't make much noise other than when they opened the door and crept up the stairs. I didn't hear them speak. I suppose they were just so bone tired that they immediately went to bed.

I envy them. I spent the majority of the night, lying awake in my room. So much has happened in the past little while that it's impossible to process. I had lulled myself into a false sense of security thinking that I never had to see Pan again, that I didn't have to even touch the pain or the heartache that thinking of my time on Neverland brings up. I was happy to just pretend it never happened and move on with my life. To my surprise when I got back, I no longer had nightmares or felt bogged down by the hurtful memories. I was happy to just accept it and move on. Perhaps, I had sorted out what had happened in Neverland back in the Enchanted Forest or perhaps some of the pain had been wiped with my memories. Whatever it was, I didn't want to chance it being disrupted by revisiting anyone or anything from Neverland.

But I couldn't just let what I saw be. I knew I saw Peter in that window while I was out and there was no way I could rest before going out and making sure it wasn't him. The last nail in the coffin. But to my complete horror, he swung that door open. Every feeling that I had expected to feel seeing him there just… wasn't there. All the emotions from Neverland didn't come crashing back; the pain, the rage the sadness just weren't there. It was foreign, the way I felt around him last night. Foreign, but not new. It was comfortable. Like I had known it for quite some time.

Perhaps, I knew him in the Enchanted Forest. Perhaps, I was there when Neal brought him and Gold back. I don't know. I only know that something has changed. Both of us have changed.

I fling myself back down on the bed when I remember the most recent change. That chaste, barely there kiss. It make me want to roll right into my grave thinking about that. How could I do that? How could I let it happen?

No matter how I might have changed or he might have, he's still public enemy number one. Hell, I shouldn't be keeping him a secret. I should go to the Charming's right now and turn him in. But then what happens to Neal? He's the only one in this town who knows enough to be able to bring him back and isn't totally preoccupied with finding their missing memories.

I feel like slamming my head against a wall knowing that I'm repeating history like this. I know Pan, know what he's like and I'm still risking it all for Baelfire. It's the only option I have though. I have to go through with it.

So that's what I do. During the day, I help around town to find missing people. Some days I help at city hall to organize the list of those who are missing, found, and new. I help set up a map of the Enchanted Forest to figure out the area where people were taken from. I meet more people, some even my age and begin to think about friendship even. And then at night, either when my brothers are fast asleep or out dealing with the ongoing saga of missing people, I sneak out of the house and make the quick drive to Peter's where we spend hours at a time poring over old tomes and spell books for any hint of a spell that might help us figure out what the hell is going on.

At first I feel hesitant about going back, steel myself. I give myself a pep talk on the drive over to the second meeting. It's for Neal, no matter how risky or awkward it may be.

I'm still surprised, though, when I find myself at his door. He looks even more surprised to find me there. He opens the door slowly, cautiously. He stands in the doorway, gold light pouring out in the night. Against the light, his hair doesn't look nearly so black and I think that I've been wrong all this time. It's most certainly a dark, dark brown.

He raises an eyebrow. "Didn't expect you back," he says.

I don't know whether to brush off his surprise or try to make a quip about what happened. Somehow, I can't find the words for either. I don't know whether to pretend the kiss happened or not.

"It's Baelfire. Of course, I'd come back," I say after a couple moments.

He pauses before he lets me into the foyer. I kick off my shoes while he brushes past me into the living room. "Yes, all you Darlings are loyal to a fault. I noticed it with your brothers, too."

"Well, it's worked out in your favour multiple times," I bite, looking over my shoulder at him as I shrug off my coat, as he reaches down for a book, his back towards me. I can't see his face but I can see his shoulders tense at the comment. I can't tell if I've angered him or I've upset him.

"Still an annoying characteristic," he says after a couple moments before sitting down heaving in his favourite armchair. "That Darling loyalty."

I join him in the living room. I sit down at the farthest end of the couch from him. I don't want to even go near him this time. I don't want to chance repeating that awful heart-pounding, butterflies in my stomach feeling.

I hear him scoff. "Darling, what a ridiculous name." He doesn't even look at me when insulting me. His eyes are focused on his book in hand.

I glare at him. This feels comfortable, familiar. Always feeling mildly angry with him. "Your name is Peter Pan. You can't insult Darling."

"My name wasn't always Peter Pan," he says, flipping a page, still not looking up. "It was Malcolm once, briefly. Back when I was human."

"You're human now."

"Thanks for the reminder," he grinds out.

I roll my eyes. "My point is you're human now, why don't you go back to Malcolm?"

"You're the only one around to call me anything. Do you want to start calling me Malcolm?"

"I'd prefer Asshole."

"Fuck you," he bites out. It's not playful. It sounds as if I've struck a chord. I suppose his given name is something that's always been a sore spot. From what I know, his time spent as a human before becoming Peter Pan was not a happy time. Perhaps me making a joke out of it wasn't very kind.

I want to apologize. It wasn't kind of me to say that. But I don't want to show any softness to him. It gets to close to that warm, rosy feeling I never want to feel again. But I don't want to let the insult just hang either.

"Do you want to be called Malcolm?"

"You've only ever known me as Peter."

"Doesn't answer the question."

"Why are we even talking about this? We have work to do." He hunches over his book more and turns towards the window, away from me. That conversation is effectively over. I feel bad that I fudged it, but I don't think Peter would even consider exchanging a word about it with me ever again.

I do contemplate for a moment, that perhaps I should be calling him Malcolm. I think about it and decide that no, I don't think I'd ever like to call him Malcolm. It doesn't really suit him well. Peter sounds much more mischievous on the tongue. I also think that calling him Malcolm would somehow detract from all he's done. Keeping Peter means he has to stick with all the things he's done as Peter. Malcolm seems like it would give him a blank slate. I don't think he should have one of those.

We continue on in relative silence for the rest of the night. There are short periods where we do speak in rapid fire sentences, ideas bouncing off each other, ricocheting through both our minds. I think we're beginning to piece together perhaps what might have happened.

The way we see it is that Neal probably tried to bring Gold back and that Peter's and Gold's souls were linked at the times of their deaths. When they came back there must have been an issue or a problem or a mistake that lead to Gold and Neal being melded together as one. It's the only real explanation to how the star Neal comes in and out and that's why it flickers.

I think that perhaps if we didn't despise each other so much that we'd make a good team. I think back to decades ago when we took care of Gavin together. For a time, we worked well together then, too. But both of us messed up and all good things come to an end.

Thinking about Gavin brings up old hurt that still feels fresh. After his death, it was one of the only times I glimpsed human Peter and thought about how perhaps the life he had built in Neverland wasn't the one he truly wanted. I know I called him on it, several decades ago, when I found out that he was immune to death. It was one of the only times I've ever made him eat his words. I was so angry when I found out about his immortality, but also so disappointed. Disappointed that he had doomed himself to a lonely, cold life where all the people he cared for left him. I wouldn't ever wish that on anybody, not even him. So I suppose it's good now that he's human.

He'll have a hell of a time building a human life though.

I wonder if he thinks about it, the future beyond these weeks that we're going to spend together searching for Neal. I wonder if he thinks he'll get his powers back or be a human for the rest of his life.

If he does, he doesn't let on about it.

We spend most of our nights in relative silence with bursts of conversation when one of us finds something particularly interesting. To my discomfort, I find that often times those conversations will often divert off along tangents that have nothing to do with the matter at hand. They become meandering conversations covering all manner of things, and I find myself during the day wishing for his company sometimes, or his thoughts on a new theory the Charming's come up with. It's annoying. Perhaps even more annoying than that butterflies feeling I feel so often. That's just attraction. I've felt that way since I met him. But actually wanting his company and valuing our time spent together is ridiculous.

One night however, Peter abruptly slams his book closed and tosses it haphazardly onto his coffee table. "This is ridiculous," he tells me. "If I read another one of those, my brain is going to melt." He looks over at me. I'm sitting at the end of the couch, curled underneath a blanket. The task is getting rather monotonous. "Let's take a break and have a snack," he tells me.

He stands up abruptly and I follow him into the kitchen, which is through a doorway after the dining room. I haven't spent much time in the kitchen, none at all in fact. Peter is the one who brings us both tea and coffee to keep up our stamina. Come to think of it, I'm not quite sure what the rest of the house even looks like. It makes me falter for a second, feeling a touch left out. I'm the only person Peter is currently speaking to and I haven't even seen the second level of the house. I feel hurt, if only for one ridiculous moment that he won't share that even with me.

The kitchen is a lot like the living room and dining room. Sharp and clean, with mainly black and white furniture. The cabinets are all white with silver handles, the counters marble with black running through them. The chairs and breakfast nook are all dark wood. It's immaculate but looks untouched.

I wonder briefly if Peter designed this house before he died or if this was just magically assigned to him somehow. Either way, it's so perfectly suited to what I know of him. Sharp and tight, beautiful and cold.

I meander over to the fridge and open it to find-

"Milk, butter, cheese and…" I turn the container around "… Expired yogurt."

The thought I had before comes back. This kitchen is so pristine and untouched because it's just that. It's untouched.

"Peter, what have you been eating if this is all you have?"

Peter's opens up his cupboard and takes out two mugs before filling up the kettle. He doesn't look at me but I can see how tense his shoulders are. He's ashamed. "I don't like to cook for myself."

"That doesn't answer my question."

He looks over his shoulder at me, his eyes sharp. "I like to eat pasta."

"You mean, all you eat is pasta?" I pause. "Can you even cook?"

He turns around and glares at me. "I was an immortal with vast magic for four hundred years. I didn't need to know how to cook." He then motions to all the appliances- the microwave, the stove, the fridge, all things I'm just getting to know and I used to live in this world. He never has. He's probably doesn't even know what half of these things are. "And look at all this, I don't know what most of these things are. We didn't have them in Neverland or the Enchanted Forest." He clenches his jaw. "And aside from that, I can't go out and buy things because if I went out of here, everyone would recognize me and promptly kill me on the spot."

His voice is tight and clipped. He looks and sounds like the Peter who's angry with me for asking too many impertinent questions but I can see underneath. He's been living off of just pasta and tea for the last three weeks, not knowing what most things are in his house. I'm surprised he hasn't keeled over from eating just starch.

"Peter, I'm sorry. I didn't realize-"

"I don't want your pity. I shouldn't have suggested this in the first place," he says, leaving the kettle still boiling away and begins to stomp back towards the living room. I step in front of him, gentling grabbing him by the wrist. He's a full head taller than me and I know that if he really wanted, he could probably just pick me up and move me aside, but he stays there, rigid.

"It's not pity, Peter," I tell him. "It's wrong that you've had to live like this. I should have realized. I'm still catching up, too." He looks down his nose at me, that blank look of disdain on his face that I've always hated. Even now, feeling so sorry for him, I still want to smack it off his face. "You should have told me."

He looks at me, incredulous. "Told you? What you would have gone out grocery shopping for me, shown me how to work any of these things like some child? Are you serious?"

I look up at him, disappointed. "Yes, of course, I would have. I wouldn't have let you starve," I say. "You know me. I would have." I try and brush off the hurt I feel that he was either too proud to ask for my help or genuinely thought I wouldn't help me.

"You're supposed to hate me."

"So? I'm not some heartless beast that I wouldn't have picked up a couple of things for you." I look at him, disappointed. "Letting you starve, does that sound like me?"

He looks at me, narrowing his eyes for a moment, while he considers. "No, I suppose not," he says, before taking a step back. "Well, why don't you explain some things."

"Alright," I say. I look around. "Well, that's the fridge. It keeps things cold so things don't go as bad as quickly. They had just come out with them around the time I left," I say pointing. "And the bottom is the freezer. It's pretty self-explanatory."

Peter humphs. "I'd gathered that much about those two," he snarks.

"I'm sorry that you're too proud to be decent while I try and help you," I bite.

"Pot calling the kettle black," he tells me.

"Yes, except this pot knows how the kettle actually works," I snark back.

"You're terrible at this."

I take a deep breath. "That's the microwave. It heats things up much quicker than a stove or oven. You can't put metal in it or it will explode," I say turning around to the microwave on the counter behind us. "You press these buttons to set the time you want whatever you're heating up to be in for. This button opens it."

Peter comes to stand beside me. "What do those buttons do?"

"From my understanding, they're preset times for specific things people put in the microwave," I explain.

"Popcorn?" he asks pointing to one of the buttons.

"Yes. They're dried kernels of corn and when you heat them up they pop. They're white and fluffy. Delicious actually. We would decorate our Christmas tree with strings of them."

"But you eat it too?"

"Yes."

He nods, seemingly not extremely irritated with me anymore. I'm glad to no longer be irritated with him either. "I'd like to try that," he tells me.

We move on through the various kitchen appliances while I explain more about them. After a while, Peter reminds me that he's rather hungry and after checking that he has bread, I elect to make grilled cheese.

"Grilled cheese?'

"Yeah, you put two slices of bread together with cheese in the middle and fry it. My brothers told me about it. It's delicious," I explain.

Peter looks at me unconvinced.

"Would you like to eat pasta for the billionth time in a row or expired yogurt?"

He looks at me, unimpressed. "Let's just make this so we can get back to work." So much for a nice calm late night snack. I come stand by him at the kitchen island where he takes out four slices of bread and butters each of them while I cut up the cheese. We work in silence and after a little while I feel myself start to become calmer. It irritates me how proud he is that he couldn't even ask for some help, but I know him and know that that would have been too much for him. He's already lost his powers, admitting he can't cook for himself would have been too big of a hit to his ego.

I'm reminded of what he said earlier when we sit down at the breakfast nook after finishing making the grilled cheese. I'm supposed to hate him. I remember hating him. Remember wishing he was dead, remembering trying to kill him. I spent a hundred years hating him and now, yes, he irritates me and I'm not sure I particularly like him, but I can't seem to summon the urge to hate him. It's like all those feelings have been eased, mended. I don't know where they've gone off too but I'm happy I don't have to be exhausted by them now.

We sit in relative silence through the entire meal. Peter ravenously eats his grilled cheese that he was originally so reluctant to even make. I feel like pointing it out, but I don't want to ruin the calm of the moment. This evening we've come too close to blowing up for my liking. I don't want to have to be at his throat the entire time. It's easier to just work with him, than to be at odds with him. It makes my life easier.

Eventually, he breaks the silence. "Thank you, for this," he tells me, almost a whisper.

I raise my eyebrows at him.

"Don't give me that look," he says, immediately turning sour after his one show of civility.

"Just a little surprised you know how to say that," I tell him.

"I'm not some uncivilized animal," he tells me icily. It's not so much that he was never uncivilized. He was always rude and arrogant and didn't think saying that you was needed. Everything was his and his alone and he didn't need to thank anyone for anything because it was all his.

"Wasn't my point," I say. I don't want to actually say something rude, but I can't just let years of arrogance go unnoticed.

"Whatever," he says, pushing back his plate.

"You are welcome, though." He glares at me from across the breakfast nook. Every time he glares he doesn't look nearly as terrifying as he used to. His eyes were always so unnerving to me. It took me a long time to get used to how cold they were. But now, they're unusual but most definitely human. It easier now to ignore his glares and narrowed eyes when the eyes behind them aren't the eyes of an all-powerful boy king. I think I like dealing with him better now that he's a human.

He seems to swallow his anger and bite out, "I know that my other enemies would have let me starve."

Enemy. The word always seemed to so appropriate to what Peter was in my life. Perhaps a little one dimensional and didn't encompass the complexity of our relationship, but definitely the correct word. But now, it's hard to cast him as a villain or an enemy, knowing that he can't cook for himself and that he's a helpless human who's probably very lonely. I feel like I should be furious with him, hate him, but it's not there. I can't find the emotion to call him my enemy.

I don't think I'd say he's my enemy right now. I definitely don't like him, but I don't think we're at odds. In fact, we're a pretty good team right now, aside from the near blow ups. Not to mention the fact that we did kiss the first night, much to my horror and most likely his. It's hard to find words for him right now, but enemy is definitely not one of them.

"I wouldn't let anyone starve," I say, shrugging, trying to play it off.

"Merciful Wendy," he says it so softly that I can't tell if it's a jab or a compliment. I don't know if it's a good or bad trait of mine. I remember the nights when I wished I had gotten my vengeance, left Peter while he writhed in pain. Or even, taken that fatal swipe when he had given me the chance all those years ago.

But I would have lost myself if I had done that. My humanity would have disappeared and what would I be left with? It was a fight on that island to just keep living. I only ever had myself as a constant and if I didn't stay true to myself, I wouldn't have had anything. Who knows if I would have even made it out of Neverland? Either way, I'd have lost my humanity and it was what kept me going. I would have been stuck on that island, alone forever, just like Peter. And that was a fate I didn't want to suffer.

Like I told him years ago, immortality was something I'd never wish on anyone, which was why I clung to my humanity, even if it seems counterintuitive.

"You should learn how to cook," I say at length. "I can bring over some cookbooks and some basics tomorrow, if you'd like."

He looks at me, warily. His expression is confused but a little hopeful. He's more than reluctant to take the offer, like I would be. I'm surprised that I've even made the offer to begin with.

He scoffs then, his expression turning cold and icy. He feels more distant now than just a few seconds ago. "I don't need to learn how to cook. I'll have my powers back soon enough."

I bristle at his words, his arrogance. "Are you so sure?"

He turns his nose up. "Yes, I'm positive."

"I'm glad to hear you're so sure of yourself."

He rolls his eyes. "Don't take my refusal so personally. I just have no need."

"It's a basic skill."

"Why does it even matter?"

"I was just trying to be helpful. Because I'm not so positive that you'll get your powers back."

"I don't need your concern," he tells me, icily. Then he turns and looks at me, quizzically, "Why are you even concerned? Since when have you cared?"

"I don't," I tell him. Saying it feels like a lie even though there's no reason for it to be. But everything feels different. Everything _is_ different and I can't explain it, but the offer wasn't just because I could help, it was because I needed to be, because I wanted him to be okay and well-fed and comfortable.

"Then why'd you offer?"

"Why does it matter?"

"Why'd you offer?" he repeats.

"I don't know." It's partially honest.

"Not an answer." I don't have an answer for him. Ever since I woke up without my memory, I unsurprisingly don't have many answers to a lot of questions, most of them stemming from Pan and his inexplicable presence. He's supposed to be dead and yet here he is. I'm supposed to loathe him and yet here I am.

The world as I thought I knew was that Peter and I are enemies. But the world seems to be flipped on its head now- with Peter helping me find Neal instead of being the one to find him.

I pause and look him up and down, wearing jeans and a t-shirt, looking like a young man. It's a mundane scene we've been placed in now. Gone is the treehouse with it's creaky floors and worn lacy curtains. It's been replaced with modern, earthly things that seem ridiculous and ill-fitting.

He gives me a wary glance. "What?"

"I just don't have any answers for you," I say at length, honestly.

I expect a retort, but he seems to human Peter is much more calm, slower to insult. He leans back in his seat and says, "I know, bird."

I was gearing up for an argument but it seems to have fizzled right in front of me. Now we sit in silence, both of us probably thinking about how odd our lives have become.

After a while, he says, "If you want, you can bring over some cookbooks and basics. I've got to eat in the meantime."

"How long do you think the meantime will be?"

He shrugs. "Honestly? I'm just trying to stay positive."

"Not looking forward to the prospect of living the rest of your existence as a human."

"Wasn't a fan the first time around. It'll probably be worse the second time," he says not really looking at me.

"Can't disagree with you there." He looks at me, angered obviously. "What? You think I'm going to tell you it'll be fine?"

"I'm trying to stay positive."

"And I'm trying to not tell grandiose lies."

"Whatever," he says, folding his arms, looking like a petulant child. This look is natural and normal. I've seen it a hundred times. And I know what it means.

"I'm going to get going then," I say, standing up and making my way out of the kitchen. Peter follows me.

"What?"

"You have that pouty look and that means you've run out of whatever patience or control you have to tolerate me so we aren't going to get anything productive done. So I'm going," I tell him over my shoulder as I pull on my boots.

"I don't tolerate you."

"Find pick another word."

"No, I mean, I don't mind your company. I don't tolerate you."

I straighten up but don't turn around. This conversation is getting a little too close to that warm, rosy feeling that I vowed to never feel again. And it strays too far from my actual goal. I'm not here to analyze for the world has changed or how it's hard to cast Peter as a villain. I'm here to find my brother. This conversation is ridiculous.

"Alright, I don't really care," I say. Shouldn't be a lie, but it is.

"You should. We can continue working still," he says. His voice sounds pleading.

"It's late."

I can imagine the look on his face, steeling himself, tightly controlling how he feels, that black expression that I hate on his face when he decides that this isn't a battle he wants to have.

"It's not that late." I'm so surprised by his response I turn around to find him just behind me, looking startlingly human, without the expression on his face that moments I would have bet my life on was there.

This is getting ridiculous. We're straying too far from the task at hand.

"What the fuck is going on?" It makes me angry that we just seem to be going in circles. He's human and not as predictable as he used to be. It's infuriating.

"What?"

"This shit. I'm supposed to hate you and you're supposed to hate me. We're supposed to be looking for Neal but here we fucking are!" I wave my hand around furiously.

"You said you didn't know what was going on."

"I don't! That's what makes it so goddamn infuriating!"

"Well, fuck, sorry that losing your memories is frustrating."

"It's not just that. It's just all of this!" I wave my hand around again in his general direction.

"You mean me?"

"Yes, all I want to do is find my brother but you're here just-just-"

"Just what?"

"I don't fucking know! You kissed me the other day and everything is confusing and I want it to stop! I want to know why I can't hate you!"

"You don't think I want to know either? Not like I planned on doing that. Not like I planned on any of this."

"It was so much easier before I lost my memories."

"You mean back when I was dead?"

I don't need to be told I just dug myself into a hole with that one.

"That's not what I meant."

"Fuck you, it is what you meant."

"It was not!"

"Then what the fuck else did you mean?"

"That it was easier back when I could fucking remember what was going on."

"It was still when I was dead."

"Fuck! That's not what I meant. Would you just forget what I said?"

"No because you meant it."

"I didn't!"

"Yes you fucking did-"

Before I even realize what I'm doing I'm reaching up to his face, my hands on his cheeks. I feel myself moving forward and suddenly, my mouth crashing onto his. There's a terrible moment where he stands there, still and unmoving. Then his mouth is moving against mine, urgent and hungry. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I realize we're against the wall, but all I can really think about is how right and familiar this feels. It feels like I've been in this position a million times before, with his skin under my fingers and his scent filling my nose and his mouth on mine. It feels shockingly familiar. It feels like a memory.

Ignoring the thought, I rake my hands through his hair as his travel to the hem of my sweater before slipping underneath to settle on my hips. His hands are surprisingly warm for such a cold person and I feel like melting into him. It feels like home to be here. It was impulsive to even do this, but it feels like it was the obvious decision.

I feel like I'm melting and turning into a puddle as his mouth moves against mine, his lips and tongue moving in time with mine. I ignore the feeling of familiarity and continue to kiss him because it's what makes sense in the moment. His hands move across my body, one at the small of my back and one reaching up into my hair. My hands travel down his neck, across his chest, playing at the hem of his sweater before roving up into it.

He breaks away for a moment, only to mutter against my mouth, "I guess you didn't mean it."

I freeze at the words and the playful tone. And suddenly, I feel like I'm being pulled out of a dream, roughly. I pull back from his mouth and hit my head against the wall hard. I can see the concern immediately on his face as his hands reach for my head, but I barely register it.

"What the fuck?"

"Yeah, what the fuck, bird?" he agrees. "Why'd you do that?" I don't know if he hasn't suddenly become aware of that familiar, warm feeling in his stomach that seems to spread through my entire body that shouldn't be familiar, but I am. This isn't right. This isn't how the world is.

I abruptly disentangle myself from him, tripping over all this limbs that are tangled in mine. I can hear him ask distantly what I'm doing, but all that I'm aware of is how familiar this all feels and how it's wrong that it feels this way. The world isn't like this. Peter isn't like this, I'm not like this. And most of all, I'm kiss the man who is supposed to be my sworn enemy while my brother is out there, in grave danger.

I deftly grab for my jacket before stumbling away from Peter's confused urgent hands, bursting out of his door and into the cold night air before jumping into my car and speeding off, trying to sort the jumble of thoughts in my head. I don't look back, not even once.


	50. Remembrance

The next morning at breakfast I feel sick. I spent the entire night tossing and turning until in the early hours of the morning I had a handful of stress dreams that I don't remember much about other than the fact that Peter was there and Neal was still lost.

I feel sick to my stomach about last night. I can't figure out the feeling that curdles my stomach and makes me almost spit out my toast and jam at the kitchen table. I don't know if it's guilt or disgust. Perhaps the confusion is just spinning my stomach around in circles just as much as it is me.

John and Michael watch me, concerned. I've barely said a word this morning and I know they're not sure how to approach the subject. For all the time we were together, I was the big sister. I didn't ever get moody or dejected or act strangely. I was the one to always calm everyone down. They've no idea how to broach the subject, to try and comfort me.

We all just sit awkwardly at the kitchen table, no one really sure to say, until John's phone beeps next to him. He looks at it quickly and says, "Hook's back. Emma and Henry have come with him."

No one's seen heads or tails of Hook in the past little while. Emma has been off with Henry trying to enjoy their nice mundane life. Their arrival means that perhaps there'll be some sort of break in this mystery, perhaps we'll finally get some sort of explanation.

We all stand from the table and make our way out of the house, into the car and make the ten minute drive to Granny's, where everyone files into the door, hunched over, scarves pulled around their shoulders, trying to beat out the cold. We seem to be late to the gathering, even though it's still relatively early in the morning. Everyone crowds in pressing together, hoping for some mystical explanation from Emma.

I peer through the shoulders of the crowd, trying to catch a glimpse of what's going on as Emma briefs the room. Hook stands beside her, clad in leather and a frown. He looks completely unchanged since last I saw him. He gives off an air of disinterest, scanning the room, until he finds me in the crowd and a look of recognition passes across his 's quick, easy to miss, but unmistakable.

He knows something.

As Emma continues to brief everyone, she explains that Hook didn't lose any of his memories because he had left the Enchanted Forest before everyone was taken back to Storybrooke, but he unfortunately has no idea who set the curse this time. He had left after he received a letter from who he could only assume was the Charmings that he needed to go and fetch Emma from Earth.

She continues on talking about their plans to restore everyone's memories, but the words are lost on me. All I can focus on now is Hook and what he knows and can tell me. I pray and hope he knows what's happened to Neal, but I reason that if he did, Emma probably would have already found him and helped him.

Eventually Emma finishes talking and the crowd disperses back out to their usual duties. John and Michael go to David immediately to get their assignments for the day. I know that I should go over to City Hall and start record keeping but I don't. I linger by the doorway, watching Hook and Emma speak quietly to each other, waiting for a break in the conversation. To my great surprise however, the break in the conversation is actually when Emma and Hook begin to make their way over to me.

Emma smiles to me as she approaches. I've never talked to her much, despite the fact that both of us are extremely close with Neal. It's probably the fact that we've been in different universes for most of our existence.

"Wendy," she says smiling at me. "I haven't asked anyone yet, but is Neal back too?"

I feel like laughing. "No," I say, shaking my head. I can't tell her what I'm doing. I can't reveal Peter to the town without risking losing my chance at finding Neal.

Emma looks down, disappointed. I don't miss the look of envy Hook shoots her. "Alright, thank you," she says before moving on to join her mother across the restaurant. Hook watches her go, but stays by me until she's out of ear shot.

I don't waste time with formalities. "What do you know?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Blunt. Exactly how I remember." I stare. "What Emma fails to realize is that you're the first one to go after Neal. I very much doubt you've been idle in his absence."

"You're correct," I say. I'd never thought much about what Hook knew about me while on the island. I didn't deal with him much. We had Peter as a common enemy but for very different reasons. I suppose he knew about my reasons for being trapped on Neverland.

"In the Enchanted Forest, you were the same way," he says.

"What? You saw me?"

He grins. "Oh, yes, we bumped into each other."

"And?"

"Well, I've been a little reluctant to tell anyone this, much less you for fear of you just passing out," he says. I'm fairly certain I know what he's about to tell me. "But Pan's alive." I cover my hand with my mouth and look down on the ground. I've never been a very good liar, much less a good actress. It's probably a good bet to just make sure Hook doesn't see me or rather, not see my lack of surprise. He keeps talking however, not waiting for my reaction. "I know this because I saw you two… together, in an…embrace."

This is actually surprising.

"What?" I nearly shout.

He just grins. "My reaction exactly."

"What?"

"I saw you two about ten months after we got to the Enchanted Forest, in the northern region by the North Sea. Found you two cuddling by my ship."

I scoff. "That's not possible." But even as I say it, I'm not so sure. Last night begs to differ.

"You two were travelling together, had teamed up to find Baelfire." I search for a chair to sit down in as Hook continues to recount to me a story that is currently happening, repeating itself in a different universe. "Apparently, Neal had tried to bring back Gold but had brought back Gold and Pan instead. He ended up bonded to his father, sharing one heart. When you realized that something had gone wrong, you left home to find him using the star and bumped into Pan. You promised him the star in exchange for his help. You two had figured out what was wrong with Neal and were going through Gold's estates to try and find him, to detach Neal before he died. From the way you two talked it didn't look like there'd a reversal on the spell. You seemed to think that you were going to have to give up your heart for Neal to survive."

"Oh my God," is all I can say.

"I hope the irony isn't lost on you," Hook says, standing next to my chair, hovering. I give him a sharp look. He shrugs and sinks into a chair next to me. "Look, I'm fairly certain Pan's in town now and-"

"I know he is," I say, brushing off Hook.

"You knew?"

"Yes, for a while now."

"And you didn't tell anyone?"

"No. History's been repeating."

"You're working together again?" I nod.

"To find Neal yes, but we aren't as far along as you're saying we were."

"And are you two…?" He taps his pointer fingers together.

"No. I don't know what you saw. But that's impossible."

He rolls his eyes. "You'd best take what I'm saying seriously. The way you two acted, you were very close and amicable. You said you trusted him."

I scoff, half-laughing. I'm not sure why it's so funny, because it sounds so ridiculous or because it may be true.

"It's true."

"I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything." He leans forward, whispering. "You and I both know well enough that Pan wouldn't have done this."

"He couldn't have. He's mortal now."

Now it's Hook's turn to be surprised.

"We've no idea how he lost his powers. Peter thinks it was when he was brought back but I'm sure that we would have mentioned that," I explain. "Was he mortal when you saw us?"

Hook shakes his head. "Not as far as I know." He's silent for a moment before he says, "If people knew he was here-"

"They'd blame him and kill him. I know."

"So you're protecting him?"

"No, he's helping me in exchange for my silence."

"Mhm."

I ignore him.

"You need to stay quiet."

"Look, I know Pan didn't do this, but the town doesn't. I'm not about to go around sending them on a wild goose chase." He turns and looks over to Emma, still speaking with Mary-Margaret. "I'm about to give you some advice though."

"Oh?"

"I want Neal back, as counterproductive as it sounds. He's a good man. I know Emma'd be heartbroken without him and I want Henry to have his father around. So I'm not going to impede you and Pan. What I think you should do is go and search your things. Go back to your place and look for notes or something that you came back with. They'll help you figure out how to find and save Neal. Search Pan's things too."

It's good advice.

I nod. "Alright, thank you," I tell him sincerely. Having Hook know that Peter is around makes me feel somehow a little better, a little lighter, to have someone else share my secret. It also reaffirms my need to stop sitting on my ass contemplating what my relationship with Peter is. It's obviously more complicated than I thought, but Neal is more important, more urgent.

If what Hook said is true then Neal is in grave danger. I need to get to him as soon as possible and I need to figure out if there's any other way to save him. I will do anything for him and if that means giving up my heart to him, then so be it, but I need know what's happening before that.

Hook squeezes my shoulder before standing up and turning away. I stand up abruptly after him and may a beeline for my brothers. They're still talking to David, leaning over a table looking at the map of some place that I don't recognize. I walk up to them and hesitate. I just need the car to get back home but the explanation behind it is not going to be as easy to say. I don't even know if I can explain to them what I've done, that I've been hiding Peter for Neal.

John sees me out of the corner of his eye and turns. I think it's pretty clear how agitated I am right now. It probably doesn't help that I've barely said a word all morning to them. He tells David to hold on a second and bumps Michael on the shoulder. They both come towards me, concerned.

"I need to borrow the car," I tell them.

They both exchange a worried glance. "You don't have a licence," Michael says flatly. I can't ever recall a time in our lives when I had to convince Michael to let me do something. He was always the baby and I was always the one babysitting him. I was the one who needed to be convinced to let him do something.

"I need the car, just to go back home, and then a couple errands," I say. "It's really important."

John glances to Michael. I can see them communicating with just a look and realize that they've spent a hundred years without me. They have this strong open relationship with each other. They trust the other completely but not me.

"Wendy, are you alright? You've been acting a little off today," John asks.

I take a deep breath and look between the two of them, weighing my options. I don't think they can just go on my assurance that I need the car but I can't bare to explain to them what I've done. It's all for Neal but it would break their hearts. They spent a hundred years working for Pan, just to get me back and to have me go behind their backs and work with him…. I think it would tear them apart.

I sigh and just say simply, "I don't know what to tell you."

"You can tell us the truth," Michael urges.

I shake my head. I really don't think I can. Not right now at least.

"I will, soon, but right now you just need to trust me," I plead. I look between the both of them, hoping that they'll understand the urgency.

The both stare at me, looking unconvinced.

"Is this about Neal?" John asks. I nod. "Why all of a sudden is it urgent? Did Hook tell you something?" I had hoped they weren't paying too much attention to my conversation with Hook, but I underestimated them. I nod again.

"It's too much to explain now, but I really, really need to go home," I beg. I look between the two pleadingly. "I will explain everything after, I promise you." They then share that same look again, the look forged over a hundred years together. It breaks my heart to know I'm not a part of it. It would break their hearts to know what I'm truly doing.

I see John nod slightly before Michael very, very reluctantly offers me the keys to his car. I snatch them out of his hand and almost run out the door before giving them each a kiss goodbye and a silent prayer to ask for their forgiveness in advance. I dash down the street and jump into the car, driving as fast as possible back home.

I arrive in record time, slamming the door open. I don't know where to start. I don't even know what I'm looking for. Just something. Anything. I need answers to questions I'm not even sure how to ask.

I begin in the sitting room, tearing through the bookshelves, flipping through books that might hold something useful. I toss them over my shoulder. Nothing, nothing, nothing. I pause as I see a book I don't recognize immediately. I open it, leafing through the pages. A version of Pride and Prejudice I don't recognize. Not what I'm looking for. Probably still from this universe. I toss it into the pile of growing, useless books.

I turn from the sitting room. I breeze through the kitchen and dining room quickly. Nothing there either. I turn and rush up the stairs. I turn the corner and hurry down the hall to my room. I throw all the drawers on my dresser, pushing aside garments and tossing them onto my bed. It's a mess that I'll have to clean up later.

I feel a terrible urgency now. I was closer to getting Neal back than I thought. I could save him, find him so soon. I could finally have my brother back. My hands shake with terror and excitement as I fling open the doors to my closet. I paw through dresses from the this world. I recognize it all. Frustrated, I heave all of it out and onto the floor. I lurch forward into the closet, my hands grasping at the dark floors and crawl deeper in. My hands blindly search in front of me. I feel through dropped shirts and skirts and suddenly, a coarse, woollen fabric I don't recognize and before I even know what I'm holding I feel pulled backwards.

It happens roughly and unceremoniously, like I've been hurled backwards like one of my dresses or books. I feel as if I'm tumbling without touching anything. The world swirls and I can't tell which direction is up or down until I'm suddenly slammed into a field.

The world stops swirling immediately and as it comes to a halt, I look around wildly. I don't recognize this field. Then just as before, I feel abruptly shoved back into my body and I feel like screaming. All I can feel is a jarring pain in my arm and a stinging in my legs. My head feels dizzy. I feel like vomiting.

I blink dizzily. I try and look around but it seems as if I'm not in control of my own body. Some unknown force grips my chin and I like down beneath me. I find that I'm straddling Pan, struggling to keep down. I feel an overwhelming sense of dizzying euphoria as I look down at him. He blinks up at me like I'm some sort of ghost or angel.

He looks like shit. He has deep circles under his eyes. His hair is scraggly and oily. He even has a scruffy beard. I've never in all my years seen him with a beard. He looks like he hasn't slept, or eaten, or bathed in months. He looks terrible. But the look in his eyes is so tender. He looks in awe of me.

I'm distracted again by the unimaginable pain I feel. In the back of my mind, I tell myself that this is obviously the source of my aches and pains. I've no idea of the cause of it. I don't know what this scene is. I've no idea how it came to be but I know without a doubt that this is the Enchanted Forest.

I hear Peter murmur, "You can get through this." What is this? I feel like asking. I want to ask, I try but I'm not in control. I have no control over myself when he reaches up to cup my cheek and I flinch away. I feel confused and hurt and desperately, desperately broken as I retract myself from him. I can feel a deep betrayal cutting through the physical pain. He's done something, but I'm not sure what.

I feel myself pushing off of Peter and hurling myself forward to a horse. My bones smash jaggedly against each other. My arm is most certainly broken as I try to sprint on weak legs. I don't what I'm doing what I am most certainly not thinking clearly. It's probably the incomparable amount of pain I feel.

Peter must have rushed after me because he reaches out and grabs onto my broken arm, gently enough, but not realizing it was broken and I yowl in pain. I try and soothe it holding it against my chest and Peter's there immediately, apologizing and trying to get my to surrender my arm to it so he can look at it.

I can hear myself screaming at him to get away from me. He needs to get the hell away is all I can feel and think. There's so much pain and he's crowding me too much and he won't just go away. He's not listening to myself and I feel that invisible force again, slamming my head forward into his.

Not exactly the best and brightest idea I've ever come up with, but most certainly effective. He stumbles backwards, clutching at his head. Meanwhile, I feel myself fall backwards onto the ground, where I remain, blinking dazed in the sunlight that feels somehow unfamiliar.

He seems to materialize in front of me, pulling me up to my feet. I struggle away from him, squirming out of his grasp. I can feel myself thinking that all I need to do is run, run away from the pain that demands all of me, and him too. He's tangled up in it but I don't have enough energy or awareness to be able to discern why.

This time he seems to understand what I'm doing and what I need. He makes sure not to touch my arm as he guides me back down to a sitting position where he has me put my head between my legs and I can hear a voice in the background, most likely his, telling me to breathe deeply.

Then he's asking me about the star and where it is and I want to ask why I don't have it? What's wrong? Where are we? But I'm not in control of my body right now and most certainly not my tongue.

Then he asks, "Did they do anything else to you? That I should know about?" I'm about to try unsuccessfully ask him again who 'they' are, but I'm suddenly slammed by another thought that knocks the breath out of my purely because it is quite possibly my worst nightmare.

I can't have children.

I don't know how and I don't know why but I can't have children. And as quickly as I came into this body that I have no control, I'm dragged unceremoniously out of it without warning and slammed right into another one.

But this time between the transition I can see things happening, in bursts of colour and understanding. I catch glimpses of a life that I can only guess is mine. I see myself one a road in the middle of nowhere, cold and wet and bloodied, growling down at Peter who lies in the mud, looking broken and small. Then him crying into my lap as I brush his hair on what seems to be a seedy bathroom floor. A hundred pictures of us in grand libraries leafing through old tomes. I feel a kiss that tastes like joy and relief and soot. Riding on horseback. Sleepless nights on uncomfortable beds. It all whirls passed me before I'm slammed into my body once more.

I feel my heart racing once again, but mercifully not the insurmountable pain. I blink into my body to find myself standing on the steps of some mansion that I don't recognize. Blearily I see mountains rising up against the grey-purple sky. I try and focus on the heart-rending information I've just learned but my mind runs away with me struggling to keep up.

Peter's before me, a step or below me, yelling, "What the fucking hell were you thinking, Wendy Darling? You just fucking abandoned me and ran off to go die? I can't believe you would even consider such a thing!" His hands are on my shoulders and he's shaking me. He looks terrified. I abandoned him? What happened?

I reach out and touch his face, tenderly with a softness I didn't even know I possessed. I hear myself apologizing to him. Me apologizing to Peter? I blather on, my words flowing without my control. I stare at Peter. He's most definitely human now, his eyes red-rimmed. He looks terrified and young. I feel myself lean forward and plant a chaste kiss on his mouth. I keep apologizing, promising I'll never leave him.

Never leave him? I want to question the promises. I can feel an overwhelming… love for Peter. There's no denying it right now. It's much more than attraction, more than mutual liking. I love this man before me. I love him. I don't know how I didn't know it before but I love him. I love him so completely and fully I can't begin to comprehend it.

He leans forward and wraps his arms around me tightly, burying his face in my next and sobbing. His hands ball into my cloak that I'm suddenly aware of. He sobs onto the shoulder of my dress and I let him, stroking his hair tenderly and let him be scared and terrified. Somewhere in the back of the mind that I can control, I realize that he must be terrified. If he loves me as I love him and he thought I had abandoned him, of course he'd be petrified. He clings to me like I'm the only thing in the word that he needs.

As I rub circles in my back, I hear myself say, "I've spoken with Neal and he helped me to realize something that I've been unaware of for a while." I've spoken to Neal? I've seen Neal? "I realized that I forgive you. I probably have for a long time, and I'm so sorry to have put you through this but I forgive you and I love you and we can have a life together."

What the fuck? I forgive him? It seems completely ridiculous but just as before it feels like I already knew this. The absence of all my years of built-up hatred, my peace with the past that seems to have come from nowhere. It explains it all and it feels completely normal.

What shocks me even more is me telling him that we can have a life together. The very idea of it seems astronomically impossible, unimaginable. I want to dwell on the improbability of it but my mind races on, not caring if I'm following, but dragging me with it nonetheless.

Peter cracks a wide grin before me, something that warms my heart more than I ever thought possible and picks me up, swinging me around, his mouth mine and his laughter rumbling through me.

He finally sets me down and kisses me again before telling me he loves me. It brings back that rosy, warm feeling that I feel near him but its intensified so much, rushing through my entire body. I hear myself telling him I love him, too.

And before I realize it we're going into the mansion that I don't recognize. I seem to lead him through the halls, apparently knowing where I'm going and my hear hammers in my chest. We're going to go save Neal. I've no idea how we're going to do it but we most certainly know how to do it. I feel like I'm about to throw up. I can't explain what's happening but I've most certainly found what I need.

We burst back into a room where Neal lies on a daybed, sweat on his brow. It's most certainly my brother and I desperately want to go to him, to wrap my arms around him. But I pass by him as Peter and I begin to set things up that I don't recognize. I want to go to him and I struggle against my body, trying desperately to go to my brother, who I can see in my peripheral vision. Suddenly, my theories are confirmed as I can see him morph almost instantaneously into his father.

But my mind isn't concentrating on what I don't understand is being set up. Suddenly, Peter and I meet each other in the centre of the room. He begins explaining to me intricate hand movements that I don't understand or want to concentrate on. My head spins and I can hardly keep up as my mind continues to rush on without me.

I place my hand over Peter's chest, my hand over his heart. I press and suddenly, I'm holding his heart in my hand, warm and beating. I'm in awe of it. I hold it in my hands. It's precious and fragile and I cherish it so much.

I don't understand why we've taken out Peter's heart. But then Peter reaches over and lays his hand over my heart, and pushes into my chest. He brings out my heart and the irony is not lost on me. A hundred years later, here is Peter holding my heart, while Neal watches, both our lives hanging in the balance. I glows golden and warm in his hand.

I hear him murmur, "A pure heart."

We exchange hearts, and I put a little pressure on my heart. I expect to feel my heart clench but the feeling never comes. To my great surprise, the heart is split in half and then to my even greater surprise, I put one half into Peter's chest and the other in mine. I tell him he's always had my heart.

And then Peter gives his heart back to me and I turn to Neal and begin to finally go back to my brother, Peter's heart in my hand, obviously ready to give it to Neal. Here it is: a solution I don't understand but most certainly a solution. I'm so close to him but suddenly glass shatters over me and then I'm suddenly pulled out of this body and just as sson as I was pulled away from it, I'm back in a body that I control, sitting in my dark closet, clutching what seems to be a wool cloak.

My breath comes in shaking bursts as I throw the cloak away. I feel so shell-shocked. I've no idea what I'm supposed to focus on. So many things crash in my mind. The solution to Neal, forgiving and loving Peter, or…. a great void opens up in my heart and I put my head in my hands. I can't have children. I'm barren. I lean back against the wall and begin to feel my breaths become shallow and short. Somewhere, a sane, rational part of my mind knows that I'm starting to hyperventilate and should definitely stop. But I ignore it, spiralling as I begin to realize that I've lost my hope for the future. It was one of the things I valued most about myself and it shatters my heart.

I slump over and curl into myself. I shut my eyes tightly and continue to take short, terrified breaths. I don't know how or why it happened but it has and it tears me to shreds. I pull my legs closer to my chest and just lie on the floor. I shake and I think I cry and just let the waves of pain and heartbreak wash over me.

I know I should get up, I know I need to keep going, but this is the most demanding thing in my mind. I have to go save Neal. I know what I need to do but I'm stuck. I can't move. I can't do anything except like here, shaking and hyperventilating and wishing I understood at least why my hope has been ripped from me.

I lie there for what seems forever and for a period everything goes black. I don't know if I passed out or if I simply fell asleep but what seems like only a couple moments later I open my eyes, blinking into the grey world of my closet with a crick in my neck and a terrible sinking feeling in my chest.

The pain is still all-consuming, still present and most definitely real, but now I can think clearly enough to know that I need to pull myself up off this floor and go find my brother. I know now what I need to do to save him. I've no idea where the memory came from either of them. I don't know if they're in sequence, if perhaps the second Wendy found a solution or was able to heal or something, or if my hopes were dashed away with the first. All I need to focus on for right now is Neal and that I need to give him Peter's heart. I can't explain why he needs it or the logic behind it. It doesn't really follow what Hook told me but it makes enough sense that I can focus on it and pretend for a couple moments at a time that my heart hasn't shattered.

I slowly, painfully push myself up off the floor and am about to stumble out of my room when I think that perhaps this hellish cloak could be useful. So I grab a bag and shove my sleeve over my hand, careful to make sure my skin doesn't come in contact with it and shove it into the bag. I sling it over my shoulder and rush out of the house. I jump into the car and back out the driveway recklessly fast. I zoom down the street, not paying attention to anything, just knowing I need to make it to Peter's.

I pass through the small town, catching glimpse of people walking about. As I pass through the main street, I see Killian on the street, next to Emma. I don't pay him much heed, but apparently, he sees me. He rushes out onto the road and I slam on the breaks before he jumps in front of my car.

He rushes over to the driver's side door and swings it open. He crouches down and looks at me, about to say something urgent but stops himself short. He shakes himself. "You look as if you've seen a ghost."

I don't have any words for him.

"You alright?" I open my mouth and close it mutely. "You hearing me, girl?"

I nod, silently. He gives me a concerned look before rushing out. "Gold's at the hospital. No one knows yet that he's sharing his body with Neal."

"Have they not been morphing between each other?" Words that make actual sense. I'm surprised.

"No, but he's in a lot of pain. I think Neal's still alive. But you haven't got much time." I nod.

"Whatever you know you need to tell us now," he pleads.

"I can cure him, but I need to go to Pan. I need his heart."

He gives me a confused look.

"I can't explain, but I can save Neal. You just need to let me do what I need to do. Don't let them know about Pan." Hook nods and retreats, closing the door for me. He's barely taken a step back before I'm racing off again, towards Peter's.

I don't know if I've blacked out or if I'm just going ridiculously fast but, I'm there almost instantaneously. I slam the break on and rip the keys out of the ignition. I bound up the steps to his house, bag slung over my shoulder. I slam on the door, desperately. Oh, God. I hope he opens it. I hope I haven't alienated him so much so that he won't even open the door to me.

I can hear myself screaming, begging, pleading for Peter. I see my hands, white and shaking slamming the door. I must look like I'm mad, standing at a supposedly abandoned house, screaming for a dead man. I throw my body against the door. The heart has to be here. I have to get in.

To my great relief, suddenly, the door flies open and I fall forward. I see the floor moving towards me in slow motion before strong hands heave me up and I'm face to face with Peter. My perception of him has changed so much I don't know what to make of him as I stare at him, blinking.

From the look on his face, he seems concerned. His hands are warm on my arms as he keeps me upright. He doesn't look surprised or hurt about how I left him last night. He just looks very, very worried. His mouth is moving but I can't focus on the words. I'm just replaying all the things I saw with him. I can see him lifting me up, spinning me around, kissing me. I see him lying on a dirt road, covered in mud and broken. I see him beneath me, shaggy beard and in awe. I see him, all of him. I can't believe that he's become all of this in such a short amount of time. I don't know if I can find the words to explain it to him. I don't know if I can find the words to explain any of it.

But I have to. I need to. Neal's life depends on it. That's why I take a deep breath and focus on what he's saying and suddenly I hear it, him.

"-you're shaking," his voice is droning on. "What's happened? What's wrong?" He helps me inside, putting an arm around me. He keeps pestering me with unimportant questions that I don't have the time to answer. I try and get him to stop poking and prodding at me. He needs to focus. I need to focus.

"Stop, stop," I rush out, impressed I've found any words.

"What?" He's grasping my shoulders tightly and I'm reminded of the memories I now have. He looks the same. So human, so loving.

I swallow and blurt, "I want your heart."


End file.
